Captive Desires

by Diane Whiteside

  Azherbhai started to dive once again.

  Alekhsiy grabbed Danae’s shoulder. “Get down!”

  “Like hell.” She shook her head ferociously at him and he glared at her. But he didn’t have time to argue.

  How had they banished Azherbhai the last time? “Torhtremer forever!”

  Azherbhai was coming closer.

  “Torhtremer, Torhtremer, Torhtremer!” Danae chanted, filling her voice with everything she’d ever learned in a lifetime of performance. She wasn’t a cheerleader but she could bring an audience to its feet. Come on, crowd, join in!

  Azherbhai was coming closer.

  “Torhtremer!” Alekhsiy was white but he echoed the chant, followed a moment later by Nora and Larissa, then the rest of the crowd. It swelled through the atrium in an instant, the echoes singing to each other like a massed choir.

  Danae pictured a wall of shields rising between the people and the Imperial Terrapin on the lobby’s every level, like the interlinked shields protecting a Viking ship. The fists were spears, charged with fiery chi and ready to go war.

  “Torhtremer!” The ring pulsed warmly against her heart.

  Azherbhai swooped down. Down . . .

  Varrain look-alikes and Kyristari warriors, Star Wars stormtroopers and the dragon riders of Pern, superheroes and pointy eared swordbearers, anime characters and time-traveling Brits and more stomped their feet and clapped their hands, driv ing their feet into the building’s bones. “Torhtremer, Torhtremer, Torhtremer!”

  Shields shimmered into being along the golden balconies, green and gold overlapping silver and blue. Spear tips bristled between them in fiery scarlet.

  Azherbhai pulled out at the last minute, only inches above Alekhsiy’s sword. He clacked his great beak until it sounded like a machine gun and disappeared in a puff of foul-smelling black smoke.

  Danae collapsed against the railing and commanded her lungs to start breathing again. In and out. In and out.

  Alekhsiy slammed his sword back into its sheath and snatched her against his chest.

  She held on, grateful for the brutal reality of rough chain mail and steel-buckled leather. He needed to heal as quickly as possible.

  “What was that all about?” Nora and Larissa rushed up to them, agog to learn the news.

  “Hell, if they spent that much money on holograms for promo,” a female Southern drawl pronounced, “the movie should be spectacular.”

  Alekhsiy choked and Danae closed her eyes, unable to respond. Hollywood was a better explanation than the truth, anyway.

  Danae’s hotel room was a blessed oasis of peace and quiet after the hubbub outside. Even the elevators, normally a whirlwind of multiple conversations, had focused on only one topic—the amazing special effects, whatever they were, needed to produce Torhtremer’s great villain.

  Alekhsiy groaned and kicked the door shut. He could guess what had produced Azherbhai: Somehow the sorcerer was coming closer and closer to Turner, the Imperial Terrapin’s future catalyst. The hungry beast could sense the swelling chi across the void and had sent his own in search. If the two life forces ever linked up and the catalyst jumped, there would be bitter war once again in Torhtremer.

  Alekhsiy smacked the wall, furious at his own failure to find the sorcerer who held the gate’s key. But if Danae was tortured into creating a tale where the Imperial Terrapin destroyed Torhtremer, all was lost, too.

  Hiss, pop! Hiss, hiss, pop, pop!

  “Guess our friends came back while we were gone,” Danae announced and pointed at the desk lamp’s base. A delicate plume of smoke drifted into the air and vanished, followed by the now-familiar acrid stench.

  “Thrice-damned spiders, spinning their webs where any man can see.” He yanked his axe into sight, biting his lip at the resultant twinges. Within a minute, he’d found all the hidden bugs.

  “They’re smaller this time,” he pronounced with disfavor. “A flea would be comelier.”

  “Turner respects us more.” Danae hung over his shoulder to see them but was careful not to touch them. “These must be much more expensive. They’re probably state-of-the-art.”

  “Do you mean the best he can obtain?”

  “Quite possibly.” Her ring flashed briefly, as it had when Azherbhai visited, and fell quiet.

  “I will remove them to the trash chute.” And then seek sweet oblivion in her arms.

  “Don’t.” She caught his arm and he swung back to face her.

  “Why not? We do not want such foulness near us.”

  “Turner’s men have probably tapped into the hotel’s surveillance system.”

  “Spies and corruption there, too? Faugh!”

  “I’ll wrap them up and put them in Larissa’s room. They can go out in her trash, which Turner probably won’t search.”

  “Her husband might notice.” Sasha was a man to journey with on a long hunt or to stand beside in a shield wall.

  “Not if I use a fast-food bag. She’s very fond of that stuff.” She started hunting amid the clutter on her floor.

  “Very well.” Truth be told, he was too tired to argue.

  Seconds later, he could have flung back his head and howled. By Chaos’s gray gods, there was no justice in this universe. How could her appalling clutter yield up what his immaculate quarters would never have provided?

  She knotted the tiny black dots into a clear plastic bag, bedecked with colorful characters and foreign lettering. Then she disappeared through the connecting door, still grinning triumphantly.

  He shook his head and reached over his shoulder for his axe. “Ouch!”

  He doubled over, unable to fully lower his arm. Kyle had nicked him more than once on his arms and ribs. Plus, there’d been the void’s brutal kick onto that filthy box in the back alley.

  “Accursed spawn of demented scriveners! Filthy rules fit only for drooling idiots!” If it hadn’t been for the absurd need to be approved—him, war leader for all Torhtremer—he’d never be in this predicament. And he hadn’t yet tried to take off his breeches, covering where the much harder blows had landed.

  He gritted his teeth and fought his arm back down to his side.

  “Poor baby,” Danae crooned, reappearing at a flagrantly inopportune moment. “Do you want me to fetch a doctor?”

  “A chirurgeon? No, it’s not necessary.” By the gods, he wouldn’t tolerate any such furor. “My armor will—”

  “Heal you?” She clucked her tongue at his nod. “Pity it can’t make itself even more useful and take itself off.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” he protested. “That would be impossible. It only heals the worst injuries, enough to keep me in battle.”

  “I will never understand magic,” she muttered. “Come on, let’s get you out of all those layers. I’ve got a ton of Earth remedies to help you, or just a basic massage. You’ve got to be one hundred percent for tomorrow.”

  “One hundred percent?” By the gods, the language here was enough to plague the most skilled scribe. Why would anyone wish to combine a “per” with a “cent,” let alone multiply them a hundredfold?

  “Completely healed, buster, if at all possible.” Her lovely jaw was very firmly set.

  “Aye,” he agreed, “one hundred percent.” He would agree to anything, so long as he didn’t have to tax his brain with it. His lady had recovered far quicker from Azherbhai’s assault than he had, praise the Mother of All Life.

  She was a very puissant sorceress, indeed. She’d built the assembly’s chi into a wall capable of stopping an imperial beast’s chi with amazing speed. Then she’d leveled it at the Imperial Terrapin’s projection and stood her ground, thereby forcing him to retreat. Oh, Alekhsiy had had the joy of standing at her back and he’d taught her the chant yesterday. But ’twas she who’d stood in the forefront and his chi that had been drained.

  But she eased off his armor as if she was a mother duck, tut tutting and cooing over every bit of stiffness he showed. Surcoat, hauberk, gambeson, undertunic—
she took them all until he was left in only his shirt and chausses. Once they were gone, he’d be bare to her for the first time in daylight. Did he have the energy to pursue that pleasant thought?

  She’d closed one set of curtains, allowing a pale, diffused light to fill the room. She glowed under it like an ebony and ivory goddess. She’d stripped off her own uniform and wore only a slim, tight-fitting chemise and trousers, with her ring. She’d adjusted the temperature, making the space feel like a warm spring day.

  He was the High King’s brother and hundreds had fought for his attention. But how many people had ever paid attention to him and his comfort of their own free will, without hoping to gain something from it?

  Yes, she understood the need to fight Azherbhai and his allies but she could have healed him for that purpose with magic. These arrangements were a gift from her heart. His own heart flexed and allowed itself to open up, just a little.

  She dropped to her knees before him.

  Shock brought his breath rattling to a stop. A sorceress kneeling to him?

  “May I?” she asked sweetly with a sidelong glance at his fly, hidden now under his shirt.

  He dragged air back into his lungs. “Certainly,” he agreed with what grace he could. His rod warmed and laid its head high on his thigh to watch.

  Danae unlaced him quickly and eased his chausses down over his hips. Her tenderness with his rod and balls was capped by a quick kiss before she stripped the linen all the way down to his knees and ankles. His brain flew south.

  “Step, please?” she asked.

  He rested his hands on her shoulders and stepped out of his chausses, unable to speak or even think well.

  “You have beautiful legs.” She encircled one ankle and then lightly rubbed his calf.

  He shot a disbelieving look at her. But no wise man would argue with a lady under these circumstances.

  She attended to his other calf as well, leaving warmth and slow relaxation behind. Her hands moved upward to his thighs, finding every place where he’d been battered. She stroked gently, her thumbs always moving upward toward his center.

  His rod swelled a little more but not urgently. His breath settled into the same slow, sweeping pattern as her hands.

  She shifted, still on her knees, and kneaded the backs of his calves as delicately as a cat making itself at home. Higher, still higher.

  His eyes sank shut and his legs instinctively widened to keep his balance. Bards at the Phoenix Court sang of houris like her, who brought bliss beyond compare.

  “Come on.” Danae laid her head against his thigh. “Let’s get you out of this shirt and down to where you can relax.”

  He unbuttoned it but she eased it over his head. She pointed to a spot on the floor near the window.

  The cozy nest he spotted made his eyes widen in shock. It wasn’t what Torhtremer would provide but it was far better than anything he’d hoped for on this dismal, metallic world. For once, both of their neighbors were out and their hotel room was entirely silent. Even the usual roar of the machines from the street was distant and muted.

  “By all the gods, what did you do?”

  “One comforter from the bed, plus the extra sheets and my massage oil. It’s not the greatest massage setup in the world but the best I can manage and they’ll put any damages on my bill.” She hesitated. “Will it do?” she inquired more tentatively.

  “It’s delightful,” he assured her, his heart leaping like a starred antelope at play.

  “Good.” She placed both hands on his shoulder blades and gave him a small shove through his shirt. “In that case, how long do you want to stand here?”

  He chuckled hoarsely and lifted his arms for her to remove the last garment. Then he dropped down into the nest on his stomach, turned his head to watch, and waited. His pulse rumbled happily through his body.

  “You look like a kid in a candy store,” she teased.

  He didn’t bother to deny it, especially when she lit a scented candle. The scent of forests drifted into the air, achingly tangy and barely sweet. She drizzled unscented oil over his legs.

  “Hmm.” His eyes began to sink shut.

  She gently rubbed his feet, taking the time to start slowly, and handled his ankles with the same respect. She stretched them and arched individual tendons until every element felt reborn and utterly relaxed.

  She kneaded and stroked his calves until they purred in delight. His knees, too, became her slaves after receiving her attentions. She clucked briefly over his thighs, a sound that barely penetrated the pleasant haze he floated in. His ass was the subject of equally thorough attention, until he vaguely wondered how much she knew about that old cavalry charge.

  His shoulders decided she was a goddess and his neck and scalp would have followed her into the farthest northern reaches, simply to stay close to her hands. The ancient headache, always arguing with him unless he was swimming in the western rivers, began to disappear for the first time since he was a cadet.

  “Roll over, please,” she whispered.

  He blearily gathered the strength to do so, his arms and shoulders moving easily for the first time in hours.

  He was completely asleep before she finished massaging his face, his bruises and tension completely gone.

  The immense ballroom was only dimly lit, its rows of ruthlessly arranged chairs ready to hold an awestruck audience. The stage loomed above it in the front, its starkly neutral spotlight ready to assist or deny the next contestant’s attempt at selling himself. A few spectators whispered comments in the back rows and kept their eyes cocked for a juicy tidbit.

  It should be heaven, absolute heaven. Theaters like this had protected her for years. The only true differences between them were the people.

  Danae glanced down at her watch again and frowned.

  “Next, please!” Andrew, the longtime technical director, thumped a few keys on his new PC. Jenny, the costume coordinator, shared more chocolate with her assistant.

  “Countess Ramona’s portion of the entr’acte?” he added. Technically part of Saturday night’s showcase but not competitors in the masquerade, they’d perform while the judges deliberated.

  “Here!” Danae came down to the front of the stage. Drat it, where the hell were Larissa and Sasha? He was supposed to be the other half of the Saturday night showcase. Had Larissa delayed him somehow? That woman couldn’t tell time in units less than days.

  Alekhsiy rose from his seat in the first row and sauntered over to her. He leaned his elbow on the stage’s apron, putting his head and shoulders beside her feet. His color had definitely improved since his nap and he was moving much more easily.

  “Oh hi, Danae.” Andrew gave her a small wave. They’d chased each other through GriffinCon’s backstage more than once as kids. “I didn’t realize you were the model.”

  “I’m honored to have the opportunity.”

  Andrew shot her a sidelong glance, clearly wary of her tone, but mercifully kept his mouth shut.

  “That’s a two-person entr’acte on Saturday night and a two-person entry on Sunday.” Jenny licked her fingers off and tabbed through her laptop. “Good to have you back, Danae.”

  “Thanks, Jenny.” Danae waited patiently, her hands submissively clasped behind her back. With any luck at all, the candy would keep her sweet tempered enough to overlook any infraction of the rules for once.

  “Lord Sasha is supposed to be the other half of Saturday’s entry. Where is he?”

  No arrival noises from backstage and no visuals from out front. What the hell was Larissa thinking of? Sasha was reliable, even if she wasn’t. And Danae was supposed to have met him early enough to have practiced the dance so they could feed cues to the tech crew.

  She gritted her teeth and smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry but he hasn’t arrived yet. I’m sure he’ll be here any moment to assist us.” She tried to sound as reasonable as possible, using a tone that her mother, that born-and-bred Southern belle, would have approved of.

>   “I suspect his job as a law officer may have detained him.” Was that last touch too much?

  “Danae, your mother wrote these rules.”

  Oh shit, now came the real lecture. Danae nodded her head meekly and waited.

  “Every participant is required to show up for tech rehearsal or another act will be given the opportunity. According to this, you represent a White Sorceress in tiger form and a Torhtremer warrior linked together by chi.”

  Alekhsiy made a strangled noise. She quickly glanced down at him but he was staring straight ahead, not at her.

  “Do you have the costume with you?”

  “Mine is body paint.” Stall, Danae, stall.

  A frosty glare greeted that response. “I am sure you have managed to make your attire capable of meeting GriffinCon’s decency standards. But there’s more to costume than that. Can you conduct technical rehearsal right now?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She was sooo going to strangle Larissa.

  “I will be the other half of the act.” Alekhsiy came to attention. “Countess Ramona is responsible for my costume.”

  What the hell was he doing? Panic ripped through her lungs. But this was the theater; she couldn’t run.

  Jenny’s sharp eyes measured his scarlet silk surcoat, pristine chain mail, indigo tunic, and stunning weapons. “Very well,” she agreed slowly.

  Thank God. At least Larissa would get the credit if they earned any awards for her.

  “LED collar and leash, linked to an LED cuff,” Andrew read off. “How bright are they?”

  “Very. They’re made from that LED fabric. Got them here.” Danae acquiesced to fate, her stomach playing a roller coaster between her ribs. How the hell could Alekhsiy look so calm?

  “Will you be dancing?”

  “Brought my own music.” She held up the CD.

  “And you’re going to need some fancy light effects, starting with a fade in?”

  “Or maybe very simple—starting with that fade in.”

  Alekhsiy vaulted onto the stage to stand beside her. He put his arm around her possessively.

  She glanced up at him. “Are you sure?” she whispered.