by Milly Taiden
“I thought your clan would have made camp at the foot of the mountains by now.” Jag turned, motioning for Riley to come. “This is Riley Parks. She is one of the queen’s friends from Earth.”
The man touched his forehead and offered a short bow. “I’m honored, pretty lady.”
“So,” Jag asked again. “What brings you here at this time of night? The queen told Riley about the oasis and we were out for the night already and decided on a little detour to watch the sunrise.”
Ranat glanced past her shoulder to the clamor beginning in the distance. “It’s our avowal, Jag. The location changes with the moons, so we find ourselves here tonight.” He looked from Jag to Riley and back. “You’re welcome to join us as honored guests, of course.”
Riley’s eyes glowed with interest. “Is an avowal some sort of celebration? A rite?”
Ranat looked at Jag before answering. “Yes and no. It’s a Galaxan courting ritual. Tonight is the last night.”
“A courting ritual. Cool.” She linked her arm with Jag’s elbow. “Back home we call that asking permission to keep company with a girl. Of course, now that’s considered way old-fashioned.” She shrugged. “Still, I think it’s sweet. Wooing a girl and making an effort.”
Ranat grinned as if getting a kick out of her. “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that for us, but you’re welcome to watch.”
He led them across the low natural bridge to the opposite side of the oasis. The trees were sparser here, more desert like. A bonfire burned at the center of a ring set up with folded blankets like seats. Dusty tents dotted the perimeter, and Ranat pointed to one and nodded before Jag shook his hand. The man then showed them where they could watch the festivities, giving the prince a prime view near the epicenter of everything.
“Wow, ringside seats,” Riley teased.
Jag nodded. “Ranat said this lasts all night, so he’s given us a tent just in case.”
“In case of what?” she asked.
He brought his lips to hers, lacing their fingers in his lap. “In case I want to call in our deal. You said if I came with you now, I would get to come later.”
“Is that all you remember me saying?” Her eyes flicked to their joined hands and back.
Jag shook his head. “I remember everything, Riley.”
The tribe drums began at that point, ending their conversation. Tribesmen took their places, sitting along the wide perimeter of the bonfire. Another man, ornately dressed in flowing robes and scarves, exited the largest tent and stood outside the break in the ring of seats. He raised his arms and the drums began a simple rhythm.
“Who is that?” Riley asked, leaning to whisper over the rat-tat-tat.
Jag glanced to the tent and the man standing outside. “I think he’s some sort of shaman. I’ve never seen this rite, so I don’t know for sure. My guess is the women are inside preparing. There’s more than one clan here, but he must be the one elected to guide the festivities.”
The tent flap behind the shaman opened, and twenty young women filed out. Their bodies were painted with brightly colored symbols, and they wore long slit skirts and narrow bandeaus over their breasts.
The shaman led them inside the ring of men, and with another raise of his arms, the drums changed to a pulsing, steady beat. The women swayed, their bodies slowly undulating with the rhythm.
“There’s something very strip-clubby about this.” She watched, taking in the faces of the men as they stared. “I half expect the men to start waving dollar bills at the girls.”
Jag shook his head. “Keep watching. It’s nothing of the sort.”
As the pulse quickened, the pace of the dance did as well. The women moved frenetic and sensual, circling the fire, their eyes as intent on the men as the men were on them.
Older women watched in groups behind the ring of suitors. Riley turned at the weight of their eyes on her. One of the women smiled, and Riley nodded, smiling back.
“I think I’ve caused a bit of a stir among the married ladies,” she said gently nudging Jag’s eyes from the firelight and gyrating bodies.
He glanced back for a moment. “Let them wonder. It’ll give them something to gossip about later.”
“Wonder? About what?” she pressed with a chuckle.
He looked at her. “About who you are to me.”
Riley caught the older woman’s eye again and with a nod, she let go of Jag’s hand. “Well, like the song says, let’s give ’em something to talk about.” She got up from the folded blanket and took the older woman’s outstretched hand.
“Riley! Wait. Where are you going?” He got up, taking a step toward them.
The older woman shook her head, and lifted a hand waving him back to his seat. Riley grinned, doing the same. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Jag watched the dancing, glancing over his shoulder waiting for Riley to get back. What was taking her so long? Impatient, he moved to get up again, but caught Ranat’s eye and the man grinned, nodding.
Jag turned, and there was Riley walking through the perimeter opening to join the dance.
His lips spread as he watched her follow the steps, moving her hips and swaying to the frenetic drumming. She was caught in the moment almost immediately, losing herself in the beat. Her mocha flesh was sheened with sweat from the fire and the exertion, and the painted symbols on her skin seemed to glow.
She moved in a circle, spinning as the women ringed the fire. Riley stopped in front of Jag, her body undulating as her eyes held his riveted. The drums stopped. Breasts heaving, the women stepped forward, each with an arm stretched toward the man directly in front.
Riley stepped forward with them, her hand reaching for Jag. He rose with the others and slid his hand into hers. The shaman said words in a language she didn’t understand, but Riley repeated them along with the other women.
The drums started again, but this time the beat was a steady thump, and the men scooped the women who chose them into their arms and turned, walking off into the shadows.
“Well,” Riley said, still breathing heavy. “I could use that dip in the spring about now.”
Jag’s mouth took hers, stunned at the wild and free woman in his arms. He slipped past the others and carried Riley back toward the natural bridge. Finding a private grotto hidden behind thick trees and shrub, he waded with her into the cool water, letting her slide into the depths over his hard body.
“It’s my turn, Riley. I’m going to fuck you, you splendid, sexy tease.” He pulled the wet bandeau from her breasts and tossed it to the grassy bank. His hands found her tits and squeezed. Dipping his head, he took her nipples into his mouth one at a time, sucking and biting while hands roamed her curves.
She moaned, and he released one hard bud with a pop. “That’s it, baby. I know you want me. But you have to wait. I’m going to work your sweet pussy until it’s soaked.”
He thumbed her nipples, circling the taut flesh. She reached for his hard member, but he shook his head. “Not yet, baby. I want you drenched for me.” He pinched her nipples harder. “I want you begging for my cock.”
Her breath came in short, hard pants. “Jag—”
“I hear you, love.” He chuckled, as his hands slid around to cup her ass. “You think I filled you before? Just wait, Riley. I held back. Held myself from taking you raw and making you come so hard, you’ll never want another man.” Her eyes found his and held.
“You know what this means, right? You understand what I’m saying.” She moaned, nodding as one hand swished through the water to her hot sex.
“Yes!” she groaned. “Only you. I want only you.”
He lifted her to a boulder covered in soft moss and pushed her knees apart. He licked her slick, swollen folds, lapping at the sweet musk. His teeth grazed her clit, and he sucked her deep and she cried out, but he pulled back. “No, Riley. You’ll come when I let you. It’s not time.”
With a single move, he lifted her to her feet and turned her aroun
d. Her hand hit the stone as Jag spread her legs wide. He reached for her pussy, dipping his fingers deep into her wet juice, spreading it back to her tight hole.
“Your ass is so luscious.” He stepped closer so his legs pressed against the back of hers. He reached around to cup her pussy, working her clit until she arched, raising her hips and her ass for more. Jag let go and spread her even wider, and grabbing her soft flesh, drove his cock deeply into her slick cunt. “But that’s next!”
He thrust, pounding balls deep. His animal wanted more, his xenos lion clawing for freedom and release. His plunges turned rougher, pushing harder into her. Her soaked pussy swelled with each raking thrust, his barbed cock forcing her body to suck him deep.
She threw her head back, spiral curls brushing his chest adding another sensation. “You’re so slick, Riley. Hot and tight, my dick is squeezed in a succulent vise.” Her muscles locked up on him. She was close. “Tell me you’re mine, Ri.”
“Jag...” she choked.
He thrust again. “No, baby. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you’re mine. Only mine. Tell me and I’ll make it so.” She whimpered, and his body tensed and her muscled clenched, crying for release.
With a force he never felt, she ground her pussy back, driving into his cock. “Yes! Jag! I’m yours! Take me. Take all of me. Make me COME!”
He pulled back, reaching around to cup her clit, catching the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger. He pinched, driving his dick deep. Flaming wetness coated his cock as her muscles clenched hard around his member.
Riley cried out, her body tense. Every muscle tightened as waves of pleasure and release crashed. A low growl started in Jag’s throat, thundering forward. His incisors lengthened as his cock swelled, ready to blow. There was no holding back this time. Pleasure exploded, shooting from deep in his gut through his balls to his cock. Hot jets shot deep.
With a roar, he threw his head back, his fangs fully descended. He was one with his xenos. His cock held her body captive, and as the last of her climax soaked his member, his fangs pierced the soft flesh between her shoulder blades. Mine. The word reverberated in his skull as her blood coated his mouth even as Riley’s body tensed at the drop between pleasure and pain.
He sealed the wounds, releasing her body, but holding her close as she slumped against him, exhausted.
“What the hell was that?” she gasped, pushing her damp curls from her face to look at him past her shoulder.
Jag tightened his grip around her waist before turning her in his arms to face him. He kissed her lips first. “That, my love, was my xenos.”
She exhaled. “Holy fuck! Literally.”
“I warned you. I told you I held back before,” he replied, brushing her hair from her eyes.
Reaching behind her for the boulder, she eased herself down. Jag let her go only when sure she wouldn’t collapse.
“No offense.” She chuckled. “But if that’s the way it’s going to be from now on, you’re going to have to build in recovery time.”
He cupped handfuls of water and gently washed her tender parts, letting the cool water pool over her breast. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Did you—” she hesitated.
He froze, water cupped in his hands running through his fingers. “Mark you?” He finished her sentence for her.
She nodded.
“Yes. You said you wanted me and only me. I had to hear you say it, or I could never have claimed you.”
She took his hand, toying with his fingers. “Does that claiming go both ways?” She looked up at him. “I mean, if I’m yours and only yours, does that apply to you, too?”
A huge grin swept his face and he scooped her up, laughing as she winced. “You bet your sweet ass it does.”
16
Jag woke to the sun in his eyes. The tent flap was ajar. He bolted up, his lion instantly alert, his eyes sweeping the tent and their blanket bed. Riley was nowhere.
He flew to his feet, grabbing his pants before stumbling out of the tent. He scanned the camp, shoving his feet through his pant legs before pulling them over his hips. Where the hell was she?
“Your lady is with our shaman,” Ranat said, walking toward Jag’s panicked confusion. “All the women were roused early.” He clapped Jag on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to need a drink.”
“Why?” Jag asked, suspicious.
“Because, what’s done in the heat of the night sometimes cannot be undone in the cold light of day,” he replied.
“Ranat, it’s too early for riddles. Just spit it out.”
Before his friend could answer, the shaman walked toward the smoking bonfire, its embers still red from the night’s festivities. Alone, he lifted a ram’s horn from a cord around his neck and blew. The sound was like God calling, and the women and men who participated in the rite the night before stepped forward from those gathered.
Jag caught sight of Riley as she searched for him in the crowd. He lifted a hand, catching her eye and she waved him over. Walking bare-chested and barefoot through the sand, he fell in step with her as they joined the others.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Beats me. The old woman who gave me my costume and war paint last night woke me before daybreak. I didn’t have the heart to rouse you, so I left a note.”
He blinked, and she chuckled. “A note you obviously didn’t get.”
“No,” he replied. Jag took her in as they stood with the others. “You look beautiful, Ri. Most women hate bright morning light, but on you it looks good.”
She smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”
His eyes traveled the length of her sleeveless tunic and fitted drawstring pants. “This is a new look for you,” he said. “What happened to your gold dress?”
“It’s a new look all right. Complete with build in tattoo.” She lifted her hair, showing him the distinct markings between her shoulder blades. “This was the talk of the women’s tent this morning. Any ideas?” she asked, pinning her hair with the gold comb from her club outfit.
He didn’t have time to answer. Chanting, the shaman called the older married tribeswomen to join the group. Each carried a crown of flowers and a curved blade.
“Jag, please tell me we’re not about to be sacrificed,” Riley murmured under her breath.
He shook his head with a smirk. “Sand dwellers don’t sacrifice their own.”
Her eyes jerked to his. “But we’re not their own, remember?”
“You watch too many movies. It’s probably some formality closing the courting rite from last night.” He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze.
The married women spread out, each stopping at a pair of courting couples. Their movements were almost a dance, the way they placed the flowers on the women’s heads.
The men were given the blades, and Jag turned his over in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship. “This is pretty cool,” he said, examining the grip. “I’m not sure what the patterns on the steel mean. They might be unity symbols.”
The shaman clapped his hands and then held the ram’s horn high. Riley looked at Jag. “What now?”
It didn’t take long for them to get an answer. The older woman who dressed and painted Riley the night before took her by the left hand. Turning her wrist over, she then gestured for Jag.
He looked at the others and what they were doing, his face stunned. “Ri, I don’t think you’re going to like this, but I don’t see how we can back out.”
“Why? What’s happening?” she asked, trying to crane her neck to see. Her eyes flew open and she tried yanking her hand from the old woman’s grip.
“Forget it, buster.” Riley glared at him. “You are not carving symbols into my left arm. It’s bad enough I have some weird inside out tattoo on my right one because of this.”
“You think I had any say in this ritual? I told you last night, I’d never seen it before. You were the one who went and got painted to join in the dance. I’m stuck
here, Riley. It’s obvious this is some sort of solemn rite. I’m a Kasaval. My brother is the king. If I bow out, the offense to the nomad culture could be catastrophic.”
“So, this is my fault? One erotic dance and I’m branded?” She shook her head. “No, Jag.”
The older woman tugged on her arm, rattling off something that sounded very much like a nervous warning.
“Hey! Back off!” Riley yanked her hand back. “No...I don’t even know what this is for. No way!”
Jag caught Ranat’s eyes and the man jogged over.
“Your Highness?” he asked, concerned.
“Ranat, what’s happening here?” Jag gestured to the other couples, now done and celebrating. “Neither Riley nor I realized the gravity of this rite. We thought it was a bit of fun for couples as they looked for their clan’s blessing.”
The shaman eyed them from the bonfire. With a calm stride, the holy man walked over. He immediately leaned into Ranat, questioning the man. The two spoke quietly, and then with a nod he gestured for Ranat to explain.
“Our shaman said this is the final test of a woman’s devotion to her new husband. She wears his mark to show her unending affection and obedience.” Ranat drew the infinity sign in the air. “The symbol becomes part of her very skin, like her love for her mate.” He glanced at the raised tattoo on Riley’s back and lifted an eyebrow. “It seems you already wear the mark of the Kasaval xenos. A much more binding statement.”
Riley looked at Jag. “I still don’t understand.”
“I guess this is a binding ceremony,” he replied. “In the eyes of the nomads, once I spill your blood in this way, we’re married.” Exhaling, he ran a hand through his hair. “Ri…I’m sorry. I had no idea coming here tonight would end with something this intense.”
The shaman looked from Jag to Riley, and then leaned in to say something else to Ranat.
A slow grin spread on the man’s lips. “My friends, I was mistaken. It seems you are already married.”
Riley looked between the two. “When? How?”
“Last night.” Ranat nodded.