He thrust deep, aching to join his heart to hers as well as his body. Harder, her cry coming so soon, too soon, and the fire exploded inside him.
Every muscle trembling, he eased down beside her and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her back against him. Limp and exhausted, she mumbled some protest, he was sure, about sleeping so close to him after her nightmares. :Sleep well, na’lanna, safe in my arms.:
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Shannari stole another glance at the leather thong hanging so prominently from the thin braid at Rhaekhar’s temple. Four more white beads swung at his face while he worked at something near the fire. Her cheeks blazed and she dropped her gaze to her hands clenched in her lap.
If another unknown person hurried by with an armload of tent and supplies and actually smiled at her or wished her a good day, she was going to scream. The attitude in Camp toward her was entirely different today. Even Alea smiled and asked her if she’d slept any at all.
Hardly, Shannari was forced to admit, even to herself. The barbarian had kept her busy most of the night. She was sore enough she rather dreaded climbing on the back of a horse today. But the horses needed fresh grazing, Rhaekhar told her, and so the Camp must be moved.
“Forgive me, na’lanna.”
Involuntarily, she tensed. She heard the laughter in his voice, the smug arrogance of a man who knew he’d done an outstanding job the previous night. Her nose twitched, though, and despite the aching tenderness between her legs, just the sound of his voice and the rich warrior scent rolling off him was enough to make her reconsider how many hours must pass before they retired this evening. Sweet hay, baking bread, flowers, leather, warrior, caffe. Caffe? Was that wretched Blood laughing at her again?
“Perhaps this will help.”
She cracked an eye at him and froze. A steaming cup in his hand. Did she dare hope… ?
“I hope I made it correctly.”
Snatching the delicate bone china cup from his hand, she cradled it in both palms and simply breathed the rich aroma a moment. “You made this? You found caffe? Here?”
“Brenn’s Camp always obtains the best outlander items for trade, even this bitter brew you’re so fond of. The trader gave me explicit directions and swore he provided everything you would need, but he did admit that tastes varied.”
Touched beyond words, Shannari took a small sip. Heaven. “It’s perfect. Not too strong, but not too weak, either. I can’t believe you did this. That you found it, here, and made me some.” Swallowing another sip, she stared up at Rhaekhar. Her breath hitched. Her eyes burned. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, na’lanna.”
Damnation, the pleased smugness only intensified on his face. It really was a wonderful, thoughtful gift, and she loved it, but she was appalled, too. He had gone to a great deal of effort to track down this non-Plains item. He obviously cared a great deal about her happiness. She could not afford to cultivate such tenderness from him.
He stroked the back of his fingers up and down the curve of her cheek and chin. “I have no ulterior motives in this gift. I hold no strings to entrap you. Simply enjoy it, and think of me.”
Oh, that definitely made her feel better. She scowled at him around another sip of caffe. “Speaking of gifts, I assume you’ll need to acquire the bow from your loss last night.”
“Aye, as soon as we make Camp, I’ll visit my friend, Blaine. He always has the best weapons available for trade, both from other Camps and beyond the Plains.” He stroked her cheek once more and then grazed his fingers down her shoulder and bare arm. “I’m more pleased than I can say that you continue to wear our clothing. Did Alea provide these for you?”
“She gave me several things yesterday. Can I come with you to see this Blaine?”
“Of course. And then you will allow me to acquire more clothing for you. I wish to see you dressed in my kae’valda.”
His voice roughened and he traced the healed mark on her shoulder. Shivering, Shannari fought back the tidal wave of longing that bubbled up inside her. Such a simple touch, but so dangerous.
“I will also provide your rahke.”
“I have my sword,” she replied, irritated at the huskiness in her voice.
“Everyone on the Plains carries a rahke.” His eyes blazed with heat, but thankfully he quit touching that sensitive scar so she could think. “I know your skills with a sword, but a rahke carries more honor.”
“More honor? What do you mean?”
“When I accepted your challenges, I chose to honor your courage and used only my rahke. If I cared little for you or your honor, I would have used my sword.”
She remembered the battle. All the warriors had fought with swords, and her soldiers had been unable to hold the line for more than a few moments before forced to full-scale retreat. Yet when she rode against him, he’d used only his rahke. Even then, he’d known? He’d cared? She didn’t like the quiver in her stomach at the thought.
“I know your honor, na’lanna. Perhaps you would allow Gregar to instruct you in our fighting techniques.”
She arched a brow at Rhaekhar, suspicious. “Why him?”
He shrugged and smiled. “He’s the best.”
“You said you’ve never lost a kae’rahke except once to Drendon, yet Gregar’s the best? How can that be?”
“I’ve never challenged Gregar. I’ve never challenged Varne, either. He’s nearly as good, but I think Gregar would best him even without his gift of Shadow.” At her frown, he leaned down and kissed her softly. “There are reasons they are Blood, na’lanna. They are formidable, deadly weapons, sworn to protect me. Plus, they’re my friends. We have no reason to challenge one another. From an early age, we knew how we would each be Called to serve Vulkar.”
No reason to challenge one another— until she came to the Plains. Until she tasted Gregar’s blood by accident. Until she—
“I shall not give Gregar formal challenge. He and I have already come to an understanding. All that remains are final arrangements.”
Sudden panic made her voice climb higher. “What does that mean?”
“When you’re ready, we’ll explain.”
Terror and shame clawed her throat to ribbons. She had done this. The fault was entirely hers. She spread betrayal and death, just as in the Green Lands.
Gripping her shoulders, he gave her a little shake. “Don’t worry and don’t blame yourself. What is meant to be will be. Vulkar and your Lady have a purpose for you, for me, for Gregar. I shall not challenge him or prevent him from his purpose.”
Yes, but Lygon had a purpose too. A purpose to murder her, to corrupt as many people as possible, to spread Shadow across the world. What is your most secret heart’s desire?
“To see you alive and well with Khul.”
She jerked around to face Gregar, spilling some of the caffe on her hand. He stood close behind her, so close she could feel his body heat, yet the panic she normally felt when someone threatened from her blind spot was absent.
She moved the cup to her other hand and shook off the caffe. Thankfully, it wasn’t boiling hot. “That’s all?”
“Aye.” He winked at her, devilish dark eyes dancing with mischief. He reached out and took her hand in his, lifting it toward his mouth. “For now.”
She expected him to check for a burn. Instead, he licked the caffe from her skin. Slowly. Thoroughly. A grip of iron shackled her wrist, even if she could summon enough thought and will to yank her hand away. All she could do was stare at him, stunned, while heat uncurled deep in the pit of her stomach.
He made a pleased, purring sound very much like a smug cat. “Mmmm. Strong. Sweet. Creamy. I like this caffe very much indeed. You should try some, Khul.”
Oh, Lady. Horrified embarrassment flooded her cheeks. She tried to tug her hand from the Blood’s grasp. Before he released her, though, he bit the heel of her hand. Not hard, but enough to make her wish he had.
She whirled around only to bump her nose into Rhaek
har’s chest.
“I must admit that the brew is too bitter for my taste. However, I haven’t licked it from this sweet skin before. Perhaps I shall earn a few kae’als by licking caffe this night.”
“If you need assistance Khul, it’s an honor to serve.”
* * * *
After half a day of riding before Rhaekhar on his horse and more hours spent perusing bows and ridiculously short knives— which she ultimately refused— Shannari needed a break. Namely, a physical break. It’d been days since she’d practiced with her sword, since she’d had any sort of physical activity other than bedsport.
She couldn’t afford to become complacent.
Rhaekhar disappeared for Camp business and she didn’t feel like delivering the bow and dealing with Alea’s dislike, so Shannari walked away from Camp into the rolling hillside.
She didn’t have to go far to find the peace she was looking for. Waving golden grains swept here and there by the breeze truly resembled waves. The sky was huge, endless, a deep, beautiful azure. The wind drove puffy white clouds across the flat bowl of sky. A few hills over, horses grazed. The sun beat down on her head, baking her dark hair and sending sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts. It was a nice heat, though. Not the dry misery of the desert.
The rich smells all around her almost made her hungry. Baking bread, sprinkled with wildflowers, scented lightly with horse and fresh air and sweet hay. Her chest tightened. Unable to stop herself, she closed her eyes a moment and listened for Rhaekhar.
His presence surrounded her, imaginary arms closing around her, his warmth enveloping her. :My heart. Do you need me?:
Startled, she opened her eyes, mentally flinching. She hadn’t meant to contact him so fully. She hadn’t even known it was possible. She felt his arms around her, the heat of his chest against her back, but he wasn’t there.
:Are you well?:
Swallowing her trepidation, she decided to send him some confirmation to break the connection. Although deep down, she really doubted he would hear her thoughts directly. If she understood the na’lanna bond correctly, it was strengthened by blood. He’d tasted her blood several times, but was it enough? :I’m well. Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you.:
:I’m pleased you thought of me.:
Oh, definitely. His arrogant satisfaction was obvious in his mental touch. He was practically purring with pleasure.
:If you need me, simply call. I shall return to you without delay.:
He emphasized need, all scorching, rumbling desire searing her brain. His imaginary hand slid down her stomach, invisible fingers trying to slip beneath the narrow strip of cloth about her waist.
Her heart raced and her body came alive for him, tingling and tightening with need. :Enough. I want to drill for a while.:
Chuckling, he allowed his ghostly arms to disappear. His mental presence evaporated. :As you wish, my heart.:
Relieved, she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders and head to loosen up. Her mind wouldn’t quit thinking about the damned bond, though. With just a thought, she had connected with the barbarian on some level she’d never previously thought possible. Arms around her when he must be miles away. His words, echoing in her head in his utterly recognizable voice.
The question begged to be answered. Could she do the same with Gregar? Frowning, she tried to dislodge the thought, but she couldn’t help but wonder. She supposedly had a blood bond with him. He felt enough of her emotions through Rhaekhar that the Blood might even realize she was thinking about him now. Unless she wanted him to think she was a coward, she had to try her theory.
She brought up the laughing Blood’s image in her mind. Long sable hair down to his waist, bottomless dark eyes, his wicked sense of humor.
:You are no coward, Shannari. I would never think such a thing.:
She swallowed hard. She was right on both accounts.
:You can call me if you ever need me. Reach for me, and I shall come.:
He didn’t touch her, not like Rhaekhar had. Perhaps he didn’t have enough of a blood bond with her to do it. For whatever reason, she was thankful. It was easier to pull back from Gregar, although she had a lingering sense of his presence.
Now that she was aware of him, of this bond and the relatively small distance between their minds, she felt him. Listening. Hovering. Lightly touching her thoughts. No wonder he overheard everything.
:I cannot return what you’ve given me even if I wanted to, but I sincerely try not to take advantage. I listen to protect. As Blood, I can do no other.:
:Can you touch me like he did?:
Nothing. Why didn’t he respond? She gave a little impatient tug on him, willing him to answer.
:I cannot hear your thoughts directly, if that is why you are concerned. I have thankfully not tasted your blood, and I must regretfully refuse such an honor even if you offered. But if I’m reading your emotions correctly… :
Teeth closed on her hand again, exactly as he’d done this morning.
Breathing hard, she pushed him away.
:Play with your sword, Shannari, and when you’re ready to learn real warfare, ask me. I won’t even demand anything in return.:
His wicked laughter echoed in her head, and then he withdrew again.
Arrogant bastards, one and all. Play with her sword indeed. Closing her eyes, she prepared her mind for battle. As always, she pictured the Lake in her mind. Its surface was glassy, smooth, silver, glimmering in the light of the full moon above. Peaceful and beautiful as all things of the Lady’s, the Lake also reminded her of her failure.
She let the crushing wave of guilt, dread, fear, uneasiness, and yes, desire, roll through her, tightening her chest until she couldn’t breathe. Then she shoved all that turmoil into those crystal clear waters. Emotion and heartache sank beneath the water without a single ripple. When she opened her eyes, she was completely calm and focused.
Unsheathing the sword, she began a basic drill. Flowing from form to form, the rhythm playing in her mind. Slash, whirl, counter, lunge, choreographed like a waltz. She pushed herself faster, harder, enjoying the sweat and her quickening breathing. The growing tiredness in her muscles had everything to do with exercise and her old world of weapons and protecting herself, and nothing to do with a commanding, arrogant barbarian who looked at her with smoldering eyes while demanding her trust and love.
A shrill iciness suddenly poured over her. Goose bumps raced down her arms despite the sweat and heat of the day. Her stomach cramped.
:ALARM!: Gregar bellowed so loudly in her head she winced. :Beware shadows!:
She continued the drill in case someone did secretly watch. Searching the tall, swaying grass, she didn’t see anything. But the Lady’s warning screamed louder through her nerves, shrieking with danger. The Blood’s presence in her mind swelled, bulged, and she felt him coming as hard as his horse would gallop.
Rhaekhar, too, his fury stealing her breath, his fear twisting her stomach into knots. What were they so afraid of?
A shadow hovered behind her. She could feel the ice and taint flowing from it, staining the air with foulness. Many assassins had come after her. She’d killed them all. But none had ever felt like this. This stomach-twisting taint felt more like one of her nightmares of Lygon.
The thought made her teeth chatter. Tightening her grip on the sword, she whirled hard and fast, swinging the blade in an arc directly toward the shadow stretching across the grass. She expected to stumble with the force of her blow, for her blade to meet nothing but grass.
The counter of an ivory knife slammed her teeth together and sent her heart hammering against her ribs.
A man— undoubtedly a Sha’Kae al’Dan warrior— nearly as large as Rhaekhar. Shadows clung to him like a cloak. She couldn’t see his face at all. He wore a long tunic splotched with gold and brown, remarkably similar to the tall Plains grass.
And his eyes…
Dead. Cold. Gleaming with ice and blackness and malice.
Letting a small smile curve her lips, she went on the offensive. She might be reluctant to kill Rhaekhar, but she had no such hesitation now. Swinging blows at the assassin as quick and hard as possible, she tried to drive him back, to find an opening in his defenses, something she could use to wound him.
The white knife was so fast, though, so deadly. The assassin caught just the tip on her forearm. She leaped back but felt the hot trail of blood on her arm. She couldn’t stop to examine it, but she feared it might be serious. It didn’t hurt beyond a fiery sting, but blood was definitely pouring from the wound. Already, she felt lightheaded. Her knees quivered. She parried the assassin’s blow, forcing the knife away from her heart, but her arm shook.
Two warriors galloped toward her, rumbling with fury, a thunderstorm raging in the deep recesses of her mind. Yet this warrior with eyes of death would drag her into Shadow, and soon. Already, darkness threatened, and it was all she could do to stay on her feet.
:Where the hell are you?:
* * * *
Rhaekhar leaned low over Khan’s straining neck and urged him to greater speed. Unmatched in both endurance and speed on the Plains, this day the formidable golden warhorse could not catch Gregar’s black na’kindre. Shannari weakened enough to call him for help, and desperate fear and rage burned in him.
A Death Rider. Here, in his Camp, committing the unthinkable. A woman was never offered up for sacrifice. Never.
So why was she marked for termination?
He felt her alarming weakness, flinching the moment the ivory rahke bit into her wrist. Her growing fear fed his fury, driving him mad with his need to protect her. He’d given his word she would be safe. On his honor, he’d sworn none would lift a hand against her.
The Rose of Shanhasson Page 18