“What?” Dharman’s voice was only slightly strained. “I don’t mind Sal on top of me if you’re between us.”
“That’s good to know,” she gasped, desperate for air. Dharman touched the other warrior’s shoulder and Sal immediately tumbled off to the side.
He sprawled on his back, his eyes heavy, sultry, his lips curled in the satisfied smile of a cat which had just enjoyed an entire bowl of cream. “Na’lanna Qwen, may we ask for things when you choose to love us?”
She propped herself up, her elbow on Dharman’s chest. “Of course.”
Dharman arched a brow at her as though she might have lost her mind. Who knew what Sal would request? Boneless and well-pleased with two incredible warriors determined to give her any and everything she wanted, it was a very good time for them to ask.
“Good.” Sal sighed, closing his eyes with a smile. “Then I want to lick you while Dharman takes you from behind.”
Lady above, Rhaekhar had once threatened to invite Gregar to that very same thing but they’d never gotten around to it. She loved the Shadowed Blood without question, but Sal’s wicked mouth and tongue…
She had to clear her throat. “I think we could arrange that.”
“Na’lanna,” Dharman whispered, drawing her gaze to him. His eyes were dark with need, his nostrils flaring, his lips curled with the same smug arrogance that Rhaekhar had often worn when he’d known he had loved her well and thoroughly indeed, with the challenge that he had only just begun. “Then I have a request.”
Silently, she nodded.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, down her neck, to the base of her shoulder. That old mark pulsed faintly at the memory of his teeth. “I want to give you a mark of my own.”
Sitting up, she unconsciously curled her hand over the scarred bite. It suddenly dawned on her that another warrior had touched and given her pleasure through that mark. Rhaekhar would never touch it again, unless she was finally able to enter the Tenth Camp. Gregar had certainly never been able to give her a mark, for the lure of her blood drew him to Shadow and murder.
No wonder Dharman had been so hesitant to touch it, and why he would make such a request. He wanted to put his own mark of possession on her body, a mark that had never been touched by another.
Her reaction wounded him—some of the light died in his eyes.
She dropped her gaze but kept her hand cradled against her neck. “Where?”
She felt his chest stop, his breath lodged in his throat. Deliberately, she thought about the pleasure he and Sal had given her; the way it’d felt when Rhaekhar had bitten her so deep, so hard, tasting her blood and leaving his mark in her body; how she felt like her bones melted away when one of the warriors she loved touched it.
Dharman sucked in his breath so hard he coughed, cleared his throat, and roughly said, “Anywhere.”
“Let’s see…” She stared off to the side, pretending to be lost in thought. His hands closed over her thighs, his fingers slowly tightening until she looked back into his face. She couldn’t help but smile. “How about one over my heart to match yours?”
“Are you sure?” His voice so solemn and careful broke her heart all over again, that he might feel she valued him less, or that she’d deny him something she’d never even think to have refused from Rhaekhar. “If you don’t want any other mark, I understand.”
“I always regretted that Gregar couldn’t mark me as I’d marked him.” Just the memory of his rounded ass in her mouth sent a rush of heat through her. Dharman rumbled with appreciation. “It’s only appropriate that you mark me, and you too, Sal if you want. I’m certainly going to mark you both again if you’ll let me.”
Sal’s eyes glowed. He crawled closer and plopped on his stomach, staring up at her through his hair. “Anywhere I want?”
She rolled her eyes but she knew he felt the unfurling desire spreading through her body at the thought. “Anywhere that won’t…er…maim you.”
He pouted, which startled her enough she let out a strangled laugh.
Dharman sat up, scooting her over to the side of the bed. He stood with her in his arms and headed for the bath. “Walk in front of us, Sal. I think she’ll figure out where she wants to mark you.”
Sal sauntered past, shaking his head slightly so his hair swished down his back. He paused, looking back over his shoulder with a decidedly lecherous grin on his young face reminiscent of the laughing Shadowed Blood. “Alea always did say I could give Gregar a hard gallop for his rahke.”
Holding her breath, Shannari let the waterfall of his hair draw her eyes down his sculpted shoulders and back to his bare ass. He didn’t have dimples on each cheek like the Shadowed Blood—his were higher near the base of his spine, two dished indentations begging for her tongue—nor the same heavily muscled thighs, but Sal definitely possessed a tempting ass of rounded, firm muscle, framed by all that glorious heavy hair.
She dragged her gaze up back to his and hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open. She suspected that she needed to wipe her chin.
He winked. “You haven’t gotten a good look at my front, either, although Dharman takes that rahke.”
“Na’lanna.” Dharman laughed softly. “Breathe.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
WHAT HAD STARTED AS A DISCREET GATHERING OF TENTS HAD BECOME A TEEMING KELDARI CITY. Since the tribes despised each other only slightly less than the munakuri beyond the desert, too many had died Dancing the Blades to count. At this rate, Agni wouldn’t have to exterminate the tribes to purge them of their devalki. Only a remnant would survive their daily squabbles.
Each night in the ruins of Nurzhan, the tals met by the fire to conspire how to eliminate each other, while Mykal dreamed of rose-flavored blood. As news spread across the sands, two new tals had joined them: Sabri tal’Asp and Husam tal’Viper. With Cobra putting forward Razul’s rav, Tariq, to lead them to the Green Lands, all the great tribes of the Keldari were represented.
Such a feat had never been achieved since Agni first blasted the land with Fire and Somma dried the Wells and wadis as punishment.
As tal of the tribe named for their neverending hope for forgiveness, Gana tal’Tellan thought he, of course, should command the envoy to capture the White Queen. For now, Mykal was willing to let him think so. He even let Gana believe his intention was to drag her screaming and kicking all the way to Agni’s Rock and toss her within.
Although Gana and Nijar were his more closely than the others, he trusted them as much as a feral dragon in rut. They had seen him accomplish the impossible. Legends were always told of how love’s sacrifice had been able to save a dra’gwar once the dragon was loosed, but those tales were few and far between. Certainly, no one could whisper of a warrior, alone, who had transformed back successfully once the beast had torn him apart.
They whispered this tale with awe and hope, watching him secretly as he walked by, always with a speculative gleam in their eyes. Keldar was a hard land, a hard life, and hope was not something they understood after centuries of punishment. Until they saw his dragon recede with their own eyes, they would not believe, not fully.
So they pushed him. They argued, insulted, and challenged him at every opportunity. Fortunately, Mykal tal’Mamba was not a man easily stirred to great passion, whether anger or other, without a complex plan of his choosing driving his actions.
Smiling, he tucked each insult away to be paid in full later, at a time of his choosing.
What they didn’t know was how very terrified he was of that slumbering dragon inside him. How much he loathed it. The thought of those slithering scales and scrambling claws made a cold sweat trickle down his spine at highest, scorching noon.
He didn’t fear the killing; killing had been a way of life for him longer than he could remember, more natural than breathing. No, it was the hunger. The dragon wanted to kill, kill, kill, and eat, eat, eat its way to Shanhasson, all the way to the High Queen of the Green Lands.
However, he didn
’t think the dragon wanted to eat her, not at all. But it wanted her, and only she would do. On that much, he and the beast were in full agreement.
The tals’ right and left hand warriors waited just beyond the firelight, hoping to be called for some important task or overhear details of their mission. A scuffle among them drew Mykal’s attention.
Asad, his own rav, brought a very familiar munakur through the ranks of frustrated, bored warriors. Curses and insults muttered in Keldari followed his passage toward the tals. The trader held a scroll in his hand. If Mykal’s eyes didn’t betray him, the scroll bore the Great Seal of rampant lions wreathed in roses.
Roses. He sucked in a deep breath. Even from a dozen paces away, he swore he could smell her on that parchment.
Gana jerked his chin at his rav, and a warrior stood and moved to intercept the trader. Hissing, Mykal flung back his taamid to make his weapons easily assessable, silently flowed behind the unsuspecting warrior, and swung his right arm in an arc.
He was as stunned as everyone else when the rav’s head rolled across the sand. Staring down at the vicious claws, he rotated his hand, watching the moonlight flicker across the silver razors. Shaken, he tried to remember what he’d done to make the claws come out. How had only part of the dragon manifested? How did he control it?
Raising his hand high above his head, he turned in a circle, letting the warriors see the evidence of his transformation. He might as well use the opportunity to bring them farther under his control, as long as he could successfully mask his own unease. By the awe on his own rav’s face, no one suspected his stomach boiled with fluid as noxious as the Venom Lake.
Asad’s voice shook as badly as his hand offering the scroll. “Tal.”
As though dragon claws on his human hand were perfectly normal, he used his index blade to crack the wax seal. Carefully he unfurled the parchment, his heart pounding. The dragon crouched, wings cocked, ready to burst free and fly hard and fast toward Shanhasson.
He held the precious scroll to his face and breathed deeply.
Iyeh, her hands had touched here and here, and…there, he touched his tongue to the parchment, a hint of salt. The ink had blurred, smearing her name slightly. A tear, how appropriate, how fitting. The dragon within shuddered, curled up its wings, and slept to dream of a sweet, clear lake the likes of which this blasted land had never known, sprinkled with drops of blood.
He knew she was the Rose of Shanhasson, Last Daughter, High Queen of the Green Lands, but more importantly, she was the White Dragon to break Agni’s fiery punishment.
Or loose Yama’s Shadow on all the world.
Closing his eyes, Mykal thrust his taloned hand into the air and clutched the parchment to his heart. He swore he could feel the dance of moonlight on his flesh, cool rainbows and pearly light, soft and gentle in a way the sun’s fire failed.
Please, he prayed, although he knew not who might listen, let alone answer.
His fingers burned, skin splitting and seared by dragon fire. He fisted his hand and raised his voice. “Agni burns the world by sending us to the munakuri lands. On the morrow, we ride to Shanhasson!”
Asad stared at him, eyes dark and shining while he tugged on his coiled hair. “Iyeh, let us ride!”
“We’ll destroy them!” Gana shouted, trying to draw some of the tals back to his side. “We’ll burn the world! Nothing will keep us from taking what we want!”
Mykal threw his head back and let his dragon rage through his throat on a roar that made the horses scream in terror and the warriors before him fall to their knees. “The only thing we take from Shanhasson is their Rose.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
SHE WAS SURPRISED TO FIND DHARMAN BESIDE HER IN THE DREAM, AND EVEN MORE SHOCKED THAT HE WAS ASLEEP. Curled against his chest, his heart strong and steady against her ear, she was tempted to wake him up. Yet her Blood had worked extremely hard. Even here, her muscles ached, reminding her of the incredible long hours she’d spent with two Blood dedicated to exploring every inch of her body.
She’d never actually seen a Blood sleep before. Pressing a kiss on his cheek, she carefully dislodged his limbs from hers and slipped to the edge of the bed. She’d come here for a reason; best she find out why instead of snuggling with him.
As soon as she stood, the bed melted away to sparkling sands gleaming beneath the waning moon. The large lake she’d swum in last time was merely a crater in the earth, baked and cracked in the heat. He was here, somewhere. Could he be with the tals who were coming to Shanhasson? Perhaps she could find him and spy on him like Dharman had done.
Smiling, she closed her eyes and let the White Dragon’s form take her. Scales ripped down her body, shining as brightly as the moon above.
New scales gleamed on her snowy breast. Sickle scales of red curved around the large circle of the moon. It almost looked like a baleful red eye. Dharman’s mark on one side, Sal’s on the other. Looking at it made her heart quicken and stirred flurries in her stomach. Would the Black know what it meant?
Why did she even care what his reaction might be?
Expanding her lungs as fully as possible on a long breath of hot desert air, she let her mind filter the scents. Sands, sage, some bitter herbs growing in the lee between dunes, and underneath it all, the woodsy smell of sandalwood.
Even dragons smiled, she discovered, baring her teeth in a grimace. Now she simply had to sneak up on him.
She took to the air, relishing the rush of wind beneath her feathered wings. Starlight glittered on the velvet sky, and the moon filled her with such hope. Not full, it was still large enough to illuminate the night, reflecting rainbows off the sand until it was nearly as bright as day.
Time was meaningless here. She flew for hours, days, she didn’t know, but it felt wonderful to stretch her wings, flying free like she was never able to do in her waking life. His scent grew stronger, until on the horizon she saw the sprawling gathering of tents like black puddles against the sand.
She flew past crumbled towers and weathered ruins of the once great city known as Nurzhan. Tucking her wings, she landed silently on the highest dune overlooking the tents. So many. Her wings quivered against her body where she’d clamped them tight to her flanks. Thousands camped below, certainly at least ten times as many Shanhasson Guard. Even if she called forth the Allandorian Guard and the fist of warriors Drendon had promised to leave for her in Dalden Bay, she’d never be able to hold off this many savages.
The Shining Walls would keep them out of Shanhasson, but what would keep them from burning and rampaging a path of destruction across the Lady’s Green and Beautiful Lands? How many would they kill?
A cold, twisting surge knotted her stomach. Not fear—the White Dragon feared nothing, certainly not a bountiful feast as what lay below. Indeed, she knew it was hunger. Not the white-hot thirst for blood, especially from those she loved; this was the cold burn of determined rage.
I should sweep down the slope and kill them all before they even stumbled out of their tents.
“How did you find me?”
Tail lashing, she crouched. She’d been thinking too hard about rending enemies limb from limb to hear him approach. Cocking her head, she studied him.
He’d come as a man instead of the Black Dragon, a desert savage swathed all in heavy black cloth. Shadows hung about him, obscuring his face, but she knew him. His eyes were the same molten silver and his scent, oh, yes, this was the exotic spice she recognized.
Now that she knew his blood smelled as good, it was all she could do not to leap on him and bury her muzzle in his abdomen.
Before she succumbed to temptation, she shed the dragon form. Calmly, she smoothed her face and drew herself up proudly. “How else does a dragon hunt its victim? I can smell you from Shanhasson.”
His cloaking shadows wavered enough to betray a slight paling about his mouth and tightness about his eyes. “Indeed. And what, exactly, do I smell like?”
“Sand,” she
replied, shrugging one shoulder lazily. His eyes flickered with surprise, which made her smile. “Fire.”
He spread out his black cloak on the sands and sat with his legs crossed before him, gesturing for her to sit across from him. “Now I know you’re telling me untruths, brightheart. This dragon never breathed Fire.”
Intently, he watched her, the shadows drawn tightly about him for protection. He didn’t even meet her gaze. No, he stared lower, and the shadows couldn’t disguise the sensual curve to his lips.
She glanced down and the miserable sun of this place exploded in her face.
She was nude.
Growling, she crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and wished very hard for clothes. A full suit of armor slammed into place, cold and hard around her body.
His low, smug laughter only infuriated her even more. Changing into the long, prim cotton nightgown she’d worn for so long to discourage her Blood, she lifted her chin and sat across from him.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s your dream, brightheart. You chose to come to me in your skin.”
“I didn’t think about my clothing—or the lack thereof—in the waking world,” she replied stiffly.
“Ah.” He leaned back to one side, supporting his weight on his elbow. “I see that your young Red took my advice.”
Lady above, she hated the wicked gleam in his eye and that smug little curl to his lips. Of course that was why she couldn’t stop thinking about drawing that full lip between her teeth. “What advice?”
“That he should mark you as soon as possible.”
The marks on her breasts burned, a searing deep ache that had nothing to do with pain.
He took a deep breath and his lips curved even more. His eyes flashed in the moonlight. “You smell like sex and horse, brightheart. It makes me very…hungry.”
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