by Autumn Dawn
It might involve using people. She hated that part. She would do her best to avoid it, but if it came down to a choice between staying here and getting home…
She rolled over and pounded her pillow, trying not to think about the luxuries of not paying rent or doing her own laundry. Chores were good. They meant she was making her own choices, living her own life. Maybe that life had been a bit empty, but…
Groaning in frustration, she buried her head under the pillow and tried to sleep.
The Beast was big, black and crawling up her bed. Vana stared in horror as the scene played out in slow motion. He wanted her. Though he had yet to touch her, he pinned her in place with the force of his will alone. He was all about claiming. Possession. Passion. And he terrified her like nothing she’d felt in her life.
She woke with a muffled scream, flailing about in the tangled covers. It took long moments to clear her head, but when it did…
Rolling over, she pulled the covers over her head. She had to get out of here!
The boys were in the kitchens, doing their pagely duties. She’d been surprised that morning when she’d learned that even young princes were expected to work their way up the ranks like everybody else. When she spotted Devin doing his hour of vegetable scrubbing, though, she had to wonder at the wisdom of starting so young. The kid was soaked with water and seemed to be doing his best to annoy the older lad in charge of watching him.
Easily six foot, the white haired boy scowled at Devin as he rewashed the occasional vegetable and chopped it with the skill of a television chef. He was handsome, in a grumpy sort of way. Too bad he was too young to be allowed to choose a wife. Some of the younger girls would have drooled over him for sure.
“Hey!” Devin shouted as the older boy tossed a still-dirty tuber back in his sink, splashing him. “You didn’t have to do that, Roac!”
“Clean it and I won’t,” Roac retorted, then went back hacking hapless roots.
“Need a hand?” Vana offered. The boys turned and stared at her as if she’d sprouted fangs and tentacles. It was a look she’d gotten often and almost universally since she’d stepped foot in the kitchen. Obviously, she’d found another taboo to flaunt.
How marvelous.
“Women don’t work in the kitchen,” Roac said as if she’d proposed to rob the place.
She raised a brow. “I’m an excellent cook, thank you very much. And I was under the impression that women did pretty much whatever they wanted to do here.” All except for the captives, that was, but she didn’t point that out. No use in mucking with conditioning that might benefit her. “Are you going to be the one to throw me out?”
A muscle in his jaw flexed, then he turned around and went back to work.
Ah, hah! I’m getting the hang of this, she thought smugly. She contemplated Devin, who blinked at her as if she’d just done something miraculous. “I really do like to cook, especially desserts, but I hardly know anything about your ingredients. I really want to know about adoc. Since you’re my son, would you like to teach me?”
He puffed up and glanced around to make certain that the rest of the crowded kitchen had heard her. “Yes, mother. I’ll teach you all about it.” Devin wiped his hands on his apron importantly and started to walk away from the sink.
“Where are you going?” Vana asked chidingly.
“To get you some adoc,” he said, confused.
“Are you done with your chores?”
He looked at the sink reluctantly. “No.”
“I can wait.”
Roac almost looked impressed.
Vana considered his pile of diced veggies. “That’s impressive. Do you train with a knife outside of the kitchen, too? With the men?”
He went back to work, giving her his back. “Everyone trains.”
“Then you know how to use a sword?”
He shrugged.
“Would you teach me?”
He nearly cut off his thumb. “Women don’t train!”
It was her turn to shrug. “I do. Every night. Dagon doesn’t care.”
Roac eyed her, slicing his victims more slowly. Clearly he needed more incentive.
She had just the thing. “Where I come from, we barter. Tell me, who are your parents?”
A murderous light shown in his eyes. “I have none. I am unclaimed.”
Vana winced. She’d been hoping to trade some of the items she’d been given to wear (some of the collars had real gems) for some lessons in Beast weaponry. Under the circumstances she’d worry about the legality of it later. Getting an idea of how well off the kid was and what his parents would allow had been her goal. Hurting the boy was the last thing she’d wanted. “Okay. I can identify with that. My father didn’t want me, either.”
Disbelief was written all over his face.
She leaned a hip against his counter and picked up a diced veggie, eyeing it contemplatively as she tried to sound casual. “In my case we were better off. My old man used to beat mama. One day he came home drunk and wrecked the house. He beat her black and blue and walked out with that month’s rent money. We never saw him again.” She smiled without humor, as if that memory didn’t bite. “So you see, I had a good reason to practice martial arts. I’m willing to pay you to expand my knowledge. Are you interested?”
“You think the Tzar will give you to an old man who will beat you?” Roac said the words slowly, as if they made no sense. “You are too valuable, lady.”
“Look, are you interested or not?” she said impatiently. No matter what the locals thought, she knew that Dagon didn’t walk on water. This kid was a target of opportunity, maybe someone young enough to be flexible, yet old enough to have useful information.
And yes, in her heart she feared what Dagon would do.
Carefully, as if afraid that she would ask the impossible, he said slowly, “What did you want to know?”
So Vana learned about the cultivation, preparation, and especially the consumption of, adoc. Devin even offered to show her the gardens where it was grown, and she agreed to plan a picnic with all of her sons. Although she invited Roac, he refused. She had the feeling that such invitations were rare in his life, and that maybe he needed persuading. In spite of himself, she liked him. It might be fun to convince him to cooperate.
To her surprise, her lessons started in the kitchen yard. Roac handed her a sword, corrected her grip and set her before a big round fruit on a piece of firewood.
“That’s a man’s head. Split it.” He crossed his arms and stared at her skeptically. The crowd of men and boys included her sons, who’d somehow gotten wind of the action. They’d shirked their chores to watch the fun. The kitchen help stood around, torn between watching her respectfully and smirking. Nobody thought she could do it.
So she raised the sword and brought it down as hard as she could, pretending it was an oversize cleaver. It bounced off the smooth green hull as if it had hit a stone.
Hands stinging, she ignored the chuckles and picked up the fruit. It made a rock-like thunking sound against the wood. She’d bet even Dagon’s skull couldn’t be this hard. “Is this a trick?” she demanded of Roac.
In answer, he took the sword, moved her back, and raised it high in a two-fisted grip. The melon split as if made of butter. He looked at her. “There’s a huge pile of these for you to practice on. We make juice for the evening meal.” He nodded at the pile of pale green cannonballs. He was right. It was huge.
Vana sighed and accepted the sword back. “Okay. Show me again how to hold this.” Beasts didn’t use the sword in real battle, but they trained in their ancient martial arts for the same reason that her gun-infested world chose to keep them alive. Besides, many of the moves translated well to makeshift weapons, like sticks. She’d always wanted to learn the sword, but by the time she’d demolished the pile of fruit, she was starting to rue that wish. Even Viej had long since deserted her for other amusements, and it was nearing sunset. It was all she could do to sit on the stump and use her
sword as a prop for her arms. Everything hurt.
“Why do you bother?”
She looked up. Dagon had replaced her ever-present guard and was watching her in the growing gloom of the side-yard. Wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of one trembling hand, she said hoarsely, “I like to finish what I start.” She accepted the cool drink he handed her gratefully. To her surprise, she recognized the taste of the fruit she’d labored so hard to split.
“I thought you deserved a taste of your efforts.”
“Um.” She didn’t have a lot of energy left for conversation.
He studied her in the growing darkness. “You think I will give you to an old man who will beat you.”
Vana grunted softly, too tired to be annoyed. “Devin.”
“That will not happen.”
Silence.
“It might surprise you to know that there is a death penalty here for beating women.”
“You marry sixteen year old girls to men ten years or more their senior.”
“Twenty-six is hardly an old man. Neither would a man in his thirties be too advanced for you.”
She stared at the ground and chose to let that dangerous comment lie.
Softly, he asked, “Are you that afraid of intimacy with a man?”
Her head shot up. “Not if it were my choice! Being forced like this…no woman wants that.”
A few smooth steps brought him to her side. Gently, he cupped her cheek and raised her head. “Let me show you something, adajah,” he whispered. His kiss was soft, barely there. Lips met lips in a slow, gentle slide. Long moments passed, as he tasted her slightly parted mouth, in no hurry to demand more.
It rocked her. No one had ever been so patient, which was why she was still so unskilled at kissing. But Dagon…he kissed her as if he were the teacher, content to pleasure her all day as he learned the shape of her mouth, the softness of the pink skin. His hand under her hair warmed her as his gentle stroking sent tingles skipping down her neck.
He caressed her cheek with the edge of his lips, sighing against her skin. His mouth brushed the edge of hers, and he withdrew with a soft sigh. “You taste like heaven, adajah mene.”
She rested within his arms, trembling a little. Her first lesson in Beast sensuality had completely shattered her composure. If they all made love like this…but she didn’t care what any other man did. It had been Dagon who had showed her, and it was Dagon who held her. She wanted no one else.
Perhaps that was what truly scared her.
He drew back and took her hands, pulling her gently to her feet. “Come. Let me wash your hair. There will be a banquet tonight, and you won’t want to miss it.”
In a sensual daze, she nodded dumbly and followed where he led.
Once inside, he had her kneel in a corner of the warm kitchen. While she braced her forearms on a short stool and leaned over, he poured warm water over her head, catching the runoff in a basin. Then he rubbed cleanser between his palms and worked it into her long hair, massaging her scalp with his fingers. Heaven was feeling his hands on her. Less pleasing was the number of cooks and kitchen boys pretending to ignore them. By now she knew the rules: Dagon would not risk being alone with her. A traitorous part of her was starting to regret that.
The cleanser must have been his, for it had a musky, woodsy, masculine scent that she’d always associated with him. It curled around her like smoke, marking her in a subtle, yet definite way. Even the careful way he dried her hair felt good to her sensitized nerves.
“I have no brush. We’ll have to go get one,” he said when he was finished, looking pleased by the idea. “Come.” He didn’t touch her, but escorted her to her room, in no particular hurry. “Bathe and dress, then come to me,” he told her at her door, ignoring her bodyguards. “Your sons and I will brush your hair for the banquet.”
In spite of her soreness, she didn’t linger under the hot spray of the shower. For once, she felt grateful for the rich array of her new wardrobe, and carefully chose a gossamer sari of lavender and blue. It clasped at one shoulder, leaving the other bare. The cool platinum of a spiral arm bracelet rode on one arm. Dagon had given it to her as a new mother gift. Unless she fancied thongs, there was nothing to wear under it, so she chose to go bare underneath, careful not to examine her actions too closely.
Dagon was bewitching her good sense.
His mouth went dry the moment Dagon saw her. A fall of shimmering silk disguised her breast on one side, but on the other, he could see the faint delineation of her peak. Every curve and hollow was faithfully outlined, making him feel weak. It was all he could do to move away from the door and accept the brush she shyly handed him.
She followed his wordless gesture, sitting gracefully on his cushions as he knelt behind her to work on her damp hair.
As if on cue, the boys galloped in from the next room.
“Did you bring the beads? Good!” Devin collected his from her open palm. “I’m the oldest, so I get to put mine in first.”
Dagon tried not to sigh at the verbal jostling that came next as his brothers worked out the order of who would get her attention next.
If he’d had his way, she’d be alone with no one but him.
He almost regretted having the council test her. The process was lengthy, and the barbarian in him wanted to make his own choices. Now. At least the banquet would offer a needed distraction. As he silently brushed Vana’s silky hair, he wondered how she would take the proceedings.
Tonight they would celebrate the first of the weddings.
Vana felt like living flame. Dagon hadn’t felt she was dressed enough, so he’d sent Viej to fetch earrings, a glittering necklace and two wrist bracelets. Now she wore enough gems to rival a princess, and only a fool would doubt what role she was being primed for. No other woman of the harem wore gems like her, though a fortune must have been spent providing clothes for them. But what Vana had been given went beyond comfort. She doubted that her new status as the prince’s new mother would have landed her in such luxury.
She slid a look at Dagon. He knew what he was doing, dressing her so richly, placing his gems upon her, though she hadn’t figured it out until it was too late. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed…those weren’t figments of her imagination.
Over the course of several dinners, she’d learned the names of some of his people. The council members at the banquet looked at Dagon censoriously. Maybe they didn’t approve of her. Would it make a difference? Because if she had to marry anyone, Dagon was someone she could bear.
The king of the Beasts was not a man easily thwarted. Witness the surrender of her heart.
He took her hand and seated her at his right hand. No other woman ever sat there, no matter how often he visited the bride chambers. She didn’t think anyone else had ever been in his rooms.
Their kiss had made all the difference. Before it, she’d still been desperately plotting to escape. Now, she wanted him. Dagon kissed her and touched her soul. She would give much more than her body when she lay with a husband. She was not prepared to give that treasure to just anyone.
The kiss had affected him, too. His glances were warmer, more possessive. A new awareness shimmered around them, as heady as the taste of adoc and more tempting. As drummers assembled in the wide aisle between tables and began to pound a rhythmic call, she wished they could lose the crowd and find time alone. She wanted to talk with him and find out if her feelings were returned. Did he really want her?
Deep notes vibrated up from the soles of her feet, drawing her attention to the area before them. A space had been cleared before the tables, and a line of musicians sat cross-legged before their drums, pounding a slow, steady beat. In the shadows, larger drums joined the call with solemn voices, lending a shivering bass to the music. The doors opened at the end of the banquet room, spilling forth six couples in shining robes. Scarlet, bronze and metallic colors in strong geometric patterns predominated the men’s robes and reached below their knees, wh
ile the women’s ankle-length robes glowed in cool tones of blues, greens and purple.
“What’s happening?” Vana asked, watching the drummers warily.
Sipping his wine, Dagon chose not to answer.
The man to her right was happy to provide the answer. In his late thirties, dark haired and sharp-eyed with intelligence, his harshly angled face was not classically handsome, but it held an appealing kind of strength. “It’s the wedding drums you hear. Those couples are to marry tonight.” He looked at her with the kind of hungry interest so prevalent in the male Beast. “We have not been introduced. My name is Kynan.”
“Vana,” she murmured in return. Wary of his blatant interest, she looked back at the couples, starting a little as she recognized Ser and Jen, the lead couple; a quick glance at Dagon shown him to be watching her calmly. Was he waiting for her reaction?
A special rug had been laid down to mark the aisle where the couples walked. Jen and Ser walked to the head of it, then turned and faced each other, hands clasped. The other couples lined up behind them. Dagon rose and joined three other men already at Ser’s side. Each carried a piece of pole framework and a curtain, which they quickly raised above the couple.
The drums rolled. Honored wedding guests and aides alike exchanged knowing grins.
Vana sent a nervous glance at Kynan, hoping for an explanation.
Grinning, he said, “Each new husband will strive to be the last one to lower his booth. Ser is very competitive. I’ve placed my bet on him.”
As the booths stayed up for long minutes, she asked in a strangled whisper, “What are they doing in there?”
Kynan smirked. “Whatever they like. The wedding booths are often the start of the seduction.” His eyes heated as they slid down her in appreciation.
Grateful for her bodyguards, Vana swallowed and looked back at the booths.