The Sacrifice

by Nhys Glover

  "What?" I demanded furiously. I would have stamped my foot had I been standing.

  "You have been with Jaron too long. I never would've expected to hear such a curse come out of such a lady-like mouth," Rama said, tears filling his blue eyes.

  "This situation called for it. I can swear if I want to." I sounded like a spoiled child. For the first time I truly understood how Jaron felt, being the baby of this group. People were supposed to stay the same, never changing, never growing up, as far as these men were concerned. Jaron would forever remain the baby in need of protecting, and I would forever remain the virginal princess, too pure to be touched by life experience.

  But I put aside my annoyance and faced the issue. If they were determined to do this, then I had to decide. I knew Jaron best, but it would hurt Calun if I chose his little brother. If all the brothers wanted me − even Rama, if it came down to it, for all his protests − then I would cause discord by choosing one over the others. And in all honesty, for all I had enjoyed Jaron's company and the pleasure he had given me, I did not prefer him to the others. It was like saying you preferred one of your limbs over the others. All of them were important.

  "So draw straws and let us get this over with," I snapped impatiently, giving up trying to come up with a better solution than the one they had agreed on.

  Calun placed a hand on my arm and I saw an image of us on the airling. I flashed back one of me kneeling over Jaron's head before I could stop it. I had not wanted to hurt him, but our bond made secrets impossible. Oddly, the image ignited both jealousy and lust in him. And ... curiosity? Was he wondering what doing that would be like?

  I focused on the memory of it, and what Jaron had done with his tongue and lips. I felt his curiosity turn to interest, pleasure, and I shook my head. Calun liked vicarious experience, it seemed. I suppose it was the only way he had gained some kind of sexual pleasure, if the whores had belittled him and he had then avoided them. And watching, as I had discovered, whilst reliving Darkin's exploits through his brother's eyes, could certainly be arousing.

  "Have you two finished?" Darkin growled.

  I glanced away, wondering how long we had been lost in our own private world. From the expressions on the other brothers' faces it was for some time.

  "Draw straws!" I said again, impatient to have this decision made. I was not sure how I felt about having the decision to go further than I had wanted taken away from me. But I could make it purely a physical act. I did not have to lose control. I did not even have to be aroused. Stories whispered around the harem had made me aware of such a possibility. It was how it was for a castrated female.

  Calun edged away in defeat and I felt Jaron lean closer on my other side. Possessiveness was coming off him in waves. This was not going to end well.

  In a matter of moments, Darkin had four sticks broken into differing lengths. He held them up with only the tips protruding from his fist and offered the first choice to Jaron.

  "Longest straw does the deed," Darkin said.

  Jaron drew in a deep breath and pulled one free. It was short. But as I did not know how short the others were I did not know if he had lost or not. He seemed equally as uncertain.

  Next, Darkin offered his fist to Calun. So he was going from youngest to oldest, which made sense as he would have the remaining stick and he was the eldest.

  Calun chose quickly. His stick was a little longer than Jaron's. I saw his pleasure and felt Jaron's disappointment.

  Rama puffed out an impatient sigh and chose from the two remaining sticks. His was longest so far. Darkin opened his palm and revealed a slightly shorter stick.

  Fear crashed through me. Not that I thought Rama would physically hurt me, or even force me, but because I was too vulnerable with him. He was too good at cutting me down with his words. If he wanted to, he could make me feel dirty and used by the experience to come. Or he could ignite the beastling inside me with his own, which I feared even more. His brothers were safe. Rama was not.

  "Sorry, you lost," Rama spat at me, clearly reading my expression as disappointment.

  "Don't hurt her," Darkin warned. "This isn't of her choosing. If you can't make this as painless an experience as possible, on all levels, then back out now! She doesn't deserve the worst of you."

  In that moment Darkin was magnificent. Muscular arms bulged as he tightened his fists. His handsome, dark features were fixed in stone, eyes sparking with fury. Lips that were usually full and expressive, were pulled into a thin, tight line. A lock of hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes, but he made no move to brush it away. All his focus was on safeguarding me, even from his own brother.

  Rama sighed heavily and looked skyward. "I know. But I don't want this. And, from her expression, she doesn't want me either."

  "Then back out!" Jaron snarled, starting to rise.

  "And let you put your life at risk, baby brother? No. If anyone's going to face the Godling's rage for this defilement it's me. I was the one who caused you all to be banished. I'm the least valuable one of us all."

  "That's not true!" Darkin said on a growl. "You're just wounded. Any one of us could've been the one caught and tortured."

  "Any one of you could've bashed the brains out of our mother's killer? And enjoyed it? I think not," Rama spat back.

  "Stop it!" I interrupted. "This is getting us nowhere. The straws have decided. Let us get this over with. What do we do then? Send a message to my father?"

  "Possibly. One of us could take a note to him, saying the airling you stole came home and the note was attached. It might've had one of your jewels with it, and said you are sorry. It might've said you were now with a protector and married. That would assure your father stopped looking for you. At least as a candidate for sacrifice."

  "That might work," I said, thoughtfully. "My father knows me well. He would know I would not steal from someone who had been kind to me, as you had been. Giving you the stone, returning the airling and apologising, is what I would do. The other? Well, we could hope he believed it."

  "You could return home once you lost your innocence. Surely, if your father loves you, he would be happy to have you return. He might even be relieved he didn't have to sacrifice you," Darkin suggested.

  I thought about that. I could go back I supposed. Back to the confines of the harem. My freedom would be curtailed, of course, because I had shown that escaping the harem was possible. But I would have my mother again. I would have the life I had known again. One filled with fine fabrics, good, plentiful food and comfort.

  No! That would be like cutting off an airling's wings once it had experienced flight.

  "I will never return to the harem," I said with certainty. "Not of my own volition."

  The brother's nodded their understanding, and I felt their relief at my decision, even from Darkin who had suggested it.

  They saw me as theirs now. And I felt the same. I had known them less than a quarter mooncycle, but it was as if we were now a family.

  "The house?" Darkin asked Rama.

  The scarred man seemed to understand the question. "No, the creek. It'll be coolest there. I'll take a pallet."

  "Take food and spirits. It'll help her relax," Darkin added.

  I had never drunk strong spirits but I knew what they did to men. They made them happy and relaxed. I needed that.

  A heavy atmosphere hung over us all as Rama and I prepared ourselves. I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream that I did not want to do this. That I would prefer to face being returned to the harem, still an innocent, than do this thing. That I wanted it to be Jaron or Calun or even Darkin. Anyone but Rama. But I did none of those things. This was the only way the brothers could safeguard me. I would not cause problems for them. No more than I already had, by being there.

  I changed into the two threadbare tunics Rama had given me. They were as feminine as my clothes came. And I was naked beneath them. It felt odd to wear tunics and no breeches.

  Rama carried a pallet over o
ne shoulder and a leather bag over the other as we walked off into the growing darkness. His handsome, scarred visage was closed off, giving nothing of his feelings away.

  We walked in silence to a small stand of trees that ran along the edge of the creek. The banks were high, which told me the creek could flow with more water than it currently carried. Right now it was a meandering rivulet deep enough only for an airling to drink from or to cover my ankles if I walked in it.

  We climbed down to the water's edge and the sound of it trickling by was soothing to my tired, ravaged nerves. The trees would shelter the area in daylight, but as the sun had gone down completely by now, they weren't needed.

  Rama gathered a few scattered branches and started a small fire. More for light, I imagined, because we were not cooking. Or I did not think that we were.

  Rama confirmed this by removing cheese and hard bread from the bag. He handed them to me, then dug deeper for oil and small fruits I had never seen before. I was sitting on the pallet, by this time, so I put the food between us.

  For a while, as the sky darkened to moonless night above us, we became the only people in the world. We ate in silence, staring into the fire.

  After the food was consumed, Rama handed me a stone flask. "Drink," he ordered gruffly. "It'll help you relax."

  I removed the lid and sniffed. Whatever was inside made my eyes water. Even so, I obediently upturned the flask and took a deep swallow.

  And burned my mouth and throat with the fires of Dahma. Coughing and spluttering, I thrust the flask back at my tormentor.

  "I thought you'd have known to sip it," Rama announced impatiently, taking a swig from the flask himself. He did not sip it!

  "I've been drinking this rot-gut since you were in clouts. It doesn't affect me."

  I grunted, not believing that for a minute. I had watched his face twist as the liquid burned its way down.

  We sat for a little longer as the heat from the spirits began to warm my belly.

  "I've never been with a good woman, especially not a virgin one," he confided, almost nervously.

  "What is a good woman? One who only allows her husband entry to her body? One who does not allow herself to experience pleasure with anyone but that one man?" It was such a double standard and I expected better from this man.

  His reply was bitter. "A good woman is any woman who doesn't happily take any man with coin to her bed."

  I considered his definition, convoluted as it was. A woman who unhappily sold herself was a good woman? That would mean his mother managed to stay a good woman in his eyes. But what about someone like me who may not sell herself, but whose magic made her want to happily go to anyone's bed I was attracted to. I knew I would get no clarity from Rama on my dilemma, so I went on.

  "So you just use women and pay them? All they get out of it is coin?"

  "It is all most women of that kind expect to get. But no, I like to be welcomed for more than just my coin. As do my brothers. Call it arrogance. Call it pride. But no woman goes unsatisfied when they accept my coin."

  I knew this was how Jaron felt. I imagined it was how Darkin felt, given the scene I had witnessed. That Rama was the same was interesting. But with the justification he had given I could understand it. What man would want to think a woman did not want him? That the only reason she took you to her bed was for your money?

  "What if I do not want you to satisfy me? What if I just want you to get it done as fast as possible?"

  He sighed. "It would hurt you. I'm on orders not to hurt you. So I'll make sure you're ready for me. It'll still hurt. I'm told it does for every woman, the first time. But I'll make sure that part is as painless as possible."

  "What if your unleashed beastling feeds mine? What if I lose control?" I asked in desperation, willing to share my greatest fears now we were getting so close to the moment.

  Rama sighed again. "Just because I give you pleasure doesn't mean I'll lose control or encourage it of you. I've been with whores since I was tortured. My beastling has stayed ... under control."

  So far, I had experienced pleasure only when my emotions were high. Was it possible to gain pleasure without feeling an emotional response?

  "Just let us get on with it. The more I think on it the more frightened and confused I get. Do you want me to remove the tunics or is it enough to just ruck them up?"

  Rama turned to stare at me with dark eyes. A flare of passion burned in them that frightened me.

  He stood and removed his own clothes. Drawing me to my feet, he then pulled up the tunics. I lifted my arms so that he could pull them over my head. From the pack he removed a sliver of soap and a tattered rag used as a wash cloth.

  Taking my hand, he led me into the water. I could not decide if I was more embarrassed or excited by the way he slowly worked the soapy wash cloth over my skin, taking an infinite time on every inch, never meeting my gaze.

  When he had rinsed me off with hands filled with creek water, he started to use the cloth on himself, washing the sweat and dirt of the day away. I stopped him.

  He looked up at me then, curious, fair brows arrowing down over dark, intense eyes.

  "Let me," I said.

  And he did, though I could feel his discomfort. I knew it was because his body was covered by crisscrossed welts that puckered the skin like the creek-bed. There was barely an inch of smooth skin to be found. I wish we had not had the fire. I wish I had not chosen to do this thing. But I was not about to back down now. I was not going to show him how I pitied him and ached for what he had been through. For the loss of the beautiful, whole man he used to be.

  Stroke after soapy stroke, I ran the cloth over his wounded flesh. Rama stood still, legs apart, gaze fixed on my face the whole time. Looking for disgust? Or pity? I gave him neither.

  When I ran the cloth between his legs and over the base of his one remaining ball, he let out a moan. I knew he had not intended it. Knew he saw it as a weakness. But I took it as my due. He was not as unaffected as he wanted me to believe. I was not sure if that knowledge gave me satisfaction or something else. If he remained unaffected he would remain in control. If he remained in control, I might, too.

  His cock was thick and long, the bulbous head huge. Washing it, I could not stop my hands from shaking. I had the strongest urge to taste what I had cleaned. What did the clear fluid that leaked from the head taste like?

  I looked up at Rama, wanting to see if he would let me meet my curiosity. His dark eyes gave nothing away. So I decided I would do it anyway. If he did not want me to do it he would stop me.

  As I leaned forward to run the cloth over his damaged sack, I touched the tip of my tongue to the fluid. Salt teased my taste buds for an instant. But I had no more than that to appreciate the taste before Rama stepped jerkily away.

  "Who taught you that?" he demanded furiously.

  "Taught me? No one. I was curious as to what the liquid tasted like. What you tasted like there."

  "This is not about pleasure," he growled out. "We're clean, now we can start."

  He grabbed my hand and dragged me from the water. With seemingly indifferent hands, he lowered me to the pallet and joined me on it. There was very little firelight left. I could only make out the shadows that turned his face into a scarred mask. To remind myself he was a man not a monster, I reached up and fingered his thick hair. It slid through my fingers like silk.

  He moaned and took my wrist, keeping me still. But not for long. He brought my palm to his mouth and kissed it, not just once, but over and over again, each kiss open-mouthed and wet, his tongue tasting me as I had tasted the salty liquid from his cock.

  His tongue slid between my fingers and I felt an answering wetness in my core. When he took a fingertip into his hot mouth I nearly fainted away. I wanted that mouth on mine, on my breasts, on my nub of pleasure.

  Without a word, he sat me up, pulling the knot in my hair loose and allowing my hair to fall like a veil to cover my back. With trembling fingers he stroked it t
o the side so it fell over my naked breasts and revealed my nape to him. I knew what it felt like to have his mouth in that spot. I was squirming before his lips touched me.

  I gasped, shaking, as the tension built inside me. His roughly calloused hand came around me and cupped my small breasts. I wished for the first time that I was larger. He had said he liked his women womanly, and I was not. In that moment, I wanted to be what he most desired.

  As he sucked and kissed and nibbled at the back of my neck, his hands massaged my breasts. It was easier this way. I did not have to look at him. Not because he repulsed me, but because his scars daunted me. And the mask of shadows hid the real man from me. This way I did not have to see him hiding.

  I reached up over my shoulder and stroked his hair. I needed to be the one touching as much as he needed to touch. When his kisses moved down my neck and across my shoulder, I twisted so I faced him. I needed his kisses on my mouth not just my skin. I needed it!

  If he was surprised that I was not the ignorant girl he had kissed before, he did not show it. His mouth came down on mine and I opened to him immediately. When his tongue thrust deep, I revelled in his possession. I felt the beastling inside me clawing to be set free. I felt his doing the same. His kisses became savage, frenzied, blindingly passionate and out of control.

  Desperate with want, I gave and took from that mouth, raking my nails over his skin, pulling him even closer. When he threw me down on my back on the pallet it felt so good. When he pushed my thighs wide, it seemed the most natural, most necessary thing in the world. When he lay on me, still kissing me with that ferocious need, I met him kiss for kiss. When he pushed into me and I felt my body halt his progress, I thrust up my hips to meet him, impaling him deep inside me.

  His cry was almost painful as he held himself still, his whole body quaking with need. Or was that mine? I was past the point of knowing what was his reaction and what was mine. When he began to move in me, slowly at first, building a rhythm I only understood on a primal level, I went with him. I would go anywhere he led me!

  The slick friction as our bodies slid together drove me mad. My head thrashed from side to side, I cried and moaned, and finally I screamed as I plummeted over the cliff I'd been climbing so feverishly. The world exploded around me in bright gusting waves.