“Why do you think?” She placed the candle on the stool and let the bearskin slip from her, standing naked before him, her womanhood in front of his face. Her nipples were stiff, aching to be touched, and goose bumps covered her pale skin. She shivered when she saw the lust rise in his eyes. Licking her lips, she moved closer, gripping the back of his head and pulling it in tightly against her stomach.
“Your father,” he whispered huskily.
But then he reached around her, grabbing her buttocks in both hands and squeezing them. His lips were on her belly button now, and then his tongue darted out, sliding within it, and she gasped. Reaching past him, she pinched out the candle and then pushed him back onto his bed. She climbed atop him, feeling the delicious warmth between her thighs spread. She ran her hands across his chest and then leaned forward so that she could tickle his mouth with one of her nipples.
“Do you want my father… or me?”
“You,” he said as he wrapped his mouth around her nipple and began to suck.
She felt his erection beneath her. Already wet, she mounted him in one quick thrust, and they both gasped in pleasure. Then he began to drive himself up at her, impaling her. In moments, as if they were long-time lovers, they found their rhythm. She shoved down upon him harder and harder, desperate to drive him even deeper within her. His hands snaked around her waist, pulling her in tight against him, crushing her breasts with his hard slabs of muscle, his lips on hers and his tongue in her mouth. When she came, the joy of it was like a shipwreck, unexpected and shatteringly powerful.
Chapter 11
Ullyn
Thunder Killer’s hull scraped alongside Port Eaton’s pier on Greywynne Island as the longship slowed to a halt. Ullyn Tangle-Beard, standing at its prow, stared out over the dark, deserted shoreline. Nothing moved. Not a sound could be heard, reminding him of a becalmed sea. Atop the nearby hill, overlooking the bay and the town, sat Stron’s Watch, the Dain fort, a dark shadow blocking out the night stars. For long moments, Ullyn glared at the fort and then slipped his fighting axe from the ring on his belt and held it against his thigh.
There’s something wrong here. I feel it in my bones.
Galas had sent him here to see if the Greywynne Islanders were truly rebelling, but there was more to it than that; Ullyn was sure of it. Galas Gilt-Mane was far from the most trustworthy of men.
Where is everyone?
This late at night, the townsfolk would all be sleeping, but someone should have noticed their arrival—at the very least, a fire watch should have challenged them by now. If the Islanders weren’t rebelling, the Dain soldiers from the fort should be awaiting them, come to see why they would sail at night. Is it true? Were they all dead?
Several of his men leaped onto the wooden pier and began securing Thunder Killer to it. Ullyn climbed down as well but then moved past his men, to the end of the pier where it met the sand. He stood there, staring off in the direction of the silent town, tapping the head of his fighting axe against his leg. Ullyn had killed many men in his lifetime. Without even a hint of vanity, he knew he was as dangerous a warrior as any other and more than most. The twenty men he had brought with him, while not his best, were more than capable fighters. If this was a trap, he was confident of his chances of fighting his way clear—especially against Greywynne Islanders, men who had forgotten what it was to swing an axe and cleave skulls. Yet something set Ullyn’s nerves on edge. I’m missing something, something important.
Aegillor, his first mate—a short, squat, smelly man with a fierce temper—moved beside him, leaning on a spear. “Where are all the dogs?”
Ullyn stared at him. “What?”
“The dogs? When have you ever sailed into a settlement and not been besieged by a pack of barking dogs?”
Ullyn stared out at the woods, at the dirt path that led to Port Eaton. He scratched his beard, dislodging a louse as he considered Aegillor’s words. He’s right. What’s happened to all the dogs?
“A rider comes.” Aegillor stepped forward onto the sand, pointing with his spear.
Now, Ullyn heard the pounding hooves himself and saw the rider coming from the fort on the hill. He carried no torch, despite the dark night. Ullyn, gripping his axe tightly, moved forward to meet the man, Aegillor right behind him.
The rider pulled his pony to a halt. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice carrying an odd accent.
Even in the dark, Ullyn could tell the pony was terrified, its eyes wild, its breathing out of control. He moved closer and gripped the animal’s bridle, lest it rear up unexpectedly. One of his men came forward with a lit torch, and Ullyn saw that the rider was no Islander at all, but a tall, thin mainlander with a goatee. A bandage covered his right eye, which still seeped fluid.
“Who are you?” Ullyn asked. “Where are the townsfolk?”
The man’s lips curled up into a sneer, and he looked past Ullyn, letting his gaze settle on Thunder Killer. Turning, Ullyn saw the remainder of his crew now crowded near the end of the pier, all of them carrying weapons, ready for trouble. The man, Ullyn now saw, wore a fancy robe, like a priest’s, but he carried no sword, no axe, not even a knife.
“He asked you a question, mainlander-assling,” Aegillor snarled. “Answer it before I rip out your tongue.”
The man cocked his head at Aegillor and stared down at him with his one eye. “I am her servant, Modwyn.”
“Her?” asked Ullyn. “What her? What’s happened here?”
The man, Modwyn, looked past Ullyn at Thunder Killer and the men on the pier. “How many of you are there? Where do you come from?”
“This one’s nothing but a whale-shit mainlander—and probably a boy-lover, too,” snarled Aegillor. “I doubt he’s got anything to say worth hearing. Let’s take him with us and go into town.”
“Watch that tongue of yours, peasant filth,” snapped Modwyn.
Aegillor stepped forward, his face darkening, but Ullyn grabbed his arm.
“Enough,” Ullyn said. He considered Modwyn. “I don’t know you, man. Why is the fort dark? What has happened here?”
Modwyn glanced over his shoulder, up at the fort on the hill. “The fort is dark because she needs no light.”
“This is the second time you’ve mentioned a woman,” said Ullyn. “I’m losing my patience, man.”
“I’ll take you to her, but you need to throw your weapons upon the sand. Not that you could harm her, but… well, it’s all about customs and appearances.”
Aegillor swore, and his men muttered angrily. Ullyn himself felt his anger flare. So be it, I tried nice. Still holding the pony’s bridle, Ullyn reached up to drag this Modwyn out of the saddle. He wasn’t going to kill him, but he would teach him some respect. Before Ullyn could touch the man, a huge splash of water came from behind him, as if someone had just dropped an anchor. Spinning about, Ullyn saw a dark shape explode out of the water and onto the wooden pier. A man! But that had been an impossible jump, at least ten feet—and he had been hiding beneath the water all that time. No man could hold his breath that long.
The attacker, a dark-haired warrior in dripping ring mail, stood between Ullyn, Aegillor, and the others. Aegillor rushed him, thrusting at his back with his spear, but the warrior spun away, becoming a blur and tripping Aegillor, before catching his spear. Then, holding the spear lengthwise, the warrior rushed Ullyn’s crew, pushing all of them—nineteen men—back, shoving them all into the water, as if he were fighting babes.
Ullyn stared in disbelief, dropping his fighting axe onto the sand, forgotten. An arm snaked around his neck, choking him, and he felt hot breath near his ear.
“I warned your man,” Modwyn sneered.
A moment ago, he was on his pony. No one moves that fast.
The dark-haired warrior spun on the prostrate Aegillor. Before Aegillor could even squeak, the warrior yanked him to his feet, shoved his fingers into Aegillor’s mouth, and—gripping his lower jaw with his fingers—yanked it loose from his face with a sicke
ning crack. Aegillor flailed, screaming incoherently as the warrior buried his face into Aegillor’s neck and began to feed.
Ullyn Tangle-Beard, hard-hearted killer of men that he was, whimpered helplessly in terror, held in place, watching his first mate die. It took less than a minute for Aegillor to cease struggling, but the dark-haired warrior still held him in place as he drank. Ullyn’s men remained standing in the waist-high waters, shivering from more than the cold as they stared up, wide eyed, at the sight before them. Two words ran through Ullyn’s fevered mind, over and over again.
Blood fiend.
Chapter 12
Fioni
Fioni’s eyes darted open.
Someone had knocked on the door, a light, tenuous rap.
She was in Owen’s bed, nestled beneath his arm, his warm body pressed up tightly against her back. She must have dozed off, despite not meaning to. He snored softly as she lifted his arm and crawled out from beneath him, fumbling in the dark for the fur she had dropped on the floor earlier. Her fingers brushed against it, and she wrapped it around her shoulders before opening the door.
As expected, Kora waited in the hallway, holding Fioni’s ring mail, her clothing, boots, and sword belt. Lady Danika stood behind her, her hand cupping a lit candle. A smile danced in Kora’s eyes as she glanced past Fioni to where Owen lay slumbering. Fioni stepped back, letting the two women in. Both women were already dressed for travel with heavy cloaks. The noblewoman stiffened when she saw who lay sleeping in the bed. Fioni winked at her before softly closing the door behind them.
“Had a good night, did you?” Kora whispered, handing Fioni her gear.
“Well enough,” answered Fioni. “I was expecting you earlier.”
Kora glanced at the noblewoman, who was now glaring at the slumbering Owen. “It took longer than I expected to convince your guest that I wasn’t trying to trick her. Mainlanders are such suspicious people.”
Owen raised his head then and sat up, staring in confusion at the three women standing beside his bed. The sheet fell away, revealing his impressive nakedness. Fioni felt a slight flush of heat at the sight.
“Wha-What’s going on?” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.
With Kora brazenly staring at him, Fioni shushed him. When he recognized Lady Danika, his eyes went wide, and he snatched at the sheet, quickly covering himself again.
“Be silent if you wish to see your lady safely delivered to King’s Hold,” Fioni whispered. “Get dressed—quietly.”
Lady Danika stared out the window into the dark night as Owen hurriedly pulled on his breeches and tunic and then fumbled with his boots. Fioni also dressed, quickly and quietly. She plopped down on the edge of the bed next to Owen as she pulled on a boot. “Vory?”
“Downstairs, waiting for us.”
“Good. The other matter… you took care of it?”
“I found his tent, but…”
Fioni paused. “But what?”
“The entire camp was still awake—they weren’t even drinking.”
“Really?”
“There are a few reasons to stay sober. A sacrifice, an offering to the gods?”
Fioni felt a sinking sensation in her gut. “You should have come and told me right away. Galas is up to something.”
“What trouble could he cause? He and his men are still Waveborn.”
“The mercenaries aren’t,” Fioni said. “And Waveborn or no, there’s little I’d put past Galas, and the men who serve him are little better.”
“What are you talking about?” Owen asked, now dressed for travel.
Lady Danika brushed past him. “Has something happened? Why are we sneaking out in the dead of night?”
“Do I need a weapon?” Owen asked.
Fioni attached her sword belt. “You’re in no danger, my lady.” She smiled at Owen, patting his cheek with its growing beard from days of not shaving. “And don’t worry, Sir Owen, I’ll protect you.”
“What is going on?” Lady Danika demanded, no longer whispering.
“Nothing,” said Fioni. “We’re getting underway a tad earlier than my father wished, that’s all. You should be happy. This is what you wanted. You can warn your king of Serina and bring my father’s terms at the same time.”
“I don’t believe you,” Lady Danika said.
Fioni placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in, keeping eye contact. “Listen to me carefully, my lady. I do not mean you or Owen any harm. I will take you to King’s Hold, but if you wake the house—especially my father—it will delay your trip, which will delay your warning. Do you wish that?”
“I don’t understand,” whispered Lady Danika.
“I don’t expect you to, but do I have your trust?”
“No,” answered the noblewoman, “but you have my word we won’t cause trouble.”
Fioni squeezed her shoulder and smiled. “That’ll do.”
Owen stood just behind Lady Danika, glaring at Fioni. He’s furious with me, she thought as a slight smile curled up her lips. Ooh, he’s even prettier when he’s angry.
“If we’re all ready,” said Kora, “we need to get moving before the house begins to wake.”
Fioni met the eyes of Lady Danika and Owen. “Quietly, please, my lady.”
Kora led the way, Lady Danika and Owen right behind her. Fioni, taking up the rear, closed the door and glanced up at the walkway above her where her father’s quarters were. Hopefully, he’d be fast asleep for some hours yet. She leaned over the wooden railing, looking down upon the great hall below. All was dark and silent, with only a red glow coming from the fire pit. Normally, the house and its servants would sleep until just before sunrise. Galas’s men are going to rage when they find the surprise I’m going to leave them, but we’ll already be out to sea.
Kora led them down the stairs, skirting the great hall and coming to the longhouse’s main entrance. Near the door, a large shadow moved, pushing the door open. Vory stood waiting. Cold night air caressed Fioni’s sweaty skin.
Fioni paused, glancing back up the stairs. “Sorry, father,” she whispered then turned away to follow the others out into the night.
She knew Galas far better than her father did. Galas, certain he was destined for greatness, was a snake in the grass—coiled and waiting to strike. She’d need to kill him first. If not, someday soon, he’d strike out against her father. She couldn’t let that happen. Instead, she was going to kill Galas this very night—cut his throat while he slept in his tent. It wouldn’t be the most honorable thing she had ever done, but it would be practical—and, as her father had said, she was ruthlessly practical.
Then she’d sail to King’s Hold.
Her father would be furious. He’d probably even threaten her with banishment, but he’d come around eventually. He had no choice. She was his only child. Once Galas was dead, his men would scream for revenge, but they’d take no action. They didn’t have the balls. Tempers would be volatile in Welmen Town for the next few weeks…or months, but whatever blood debt her father demanded of her, it would still be a bargain to get rid of that snake. The Kur’teshi mercenaries could either follow her father or forego their payment—and they’d owe no loyalty to Galas. No, they’d offer their swords to her father for his raid. When he calmed down—after she delivered the northerners and her father’s terms to the king—she’d come back and join him for the raid on the Rose Palace.
At the gatehouse leading to the hanging bridge, she gripped Vory’s arm. “Is all as I ordered?”
“Aye. Fen Wolf is ready to sail, but as you ordered, we have yet to strike the camp. We can do so in moments, though.”
“Good. I don’t want to alarm Galas’s camp.”
“The crew aren’t happy. They thought they could return to their families.”
“Soon enough. A couple of weeks, no more. Just enough time for everyone to calm down.”
“They won’t keep this secret much longer. You’re their ship’s master, but your father is the
yarl.”
“An hour from now, they won’t need to.”
She could hear him grinding his teeth in the dark. “If you insist on doing this stupid thing, I’m coming with you.”
She smiled at the thought of this great bear of a man trying to sneak into Galas’s camp. “No. Kora and I will do this. You take our two guests to Fen Wolf and be ready to get underway very quickly. We may be running on the way back.”
She could sense his unhappiness, but he changed the subject, tossing his large head in the direction of the gatehouse before them. A single torch fluttered inside it, providing light for the sentries. “That fat ass, Bolin, and his half-wit brother, Golm, are on watch tonight. Nearly shat themselves when Kora and I showed up. At first, they didn’t even want to let us in. They might cause trouble when we leave, wake your father.”
Fioni chewed her upper lip as she considered the gatehouse. “That would be a problem. Any idea what’s crawled up their asses? Those two are hardly the most diligent of my father’s house-herd.”
Vory shook his head. “Don’t know. Bolin tried telling us we needed to come back after sunrise. I told him that if he doubted I had your family’s trust, then he and I could dance the blanket together. That changed his mind.”
Fioni snorted, imagining Bolin’s terror. “Maybe my father doesn’t trust Galas as much as he says he does.”
“The whole town’s on edge. No one likes having the mercenaries camped nearby—even with Galas’s men between them.”
“They should be more concerned with Galas. Let’s go make sure Bolin doesn’t go running off to wake my father the moment we leave.”
Fioni entered the gatehouse. A small woodstove burned near an interior wall, its pipe snaking up through the ceiling so the smoke could escape. Bolin and his brother, Golm, stood before the stove now, warming themselves, their spears and shields set against a wall. The alarm horn hung on a peg beside the barred gates. As she entered the guardhouse, the two herdsmen spun about, ashen faced. Something’s bothering these two idiots. They know I keep my own hours.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 36