“Or perhaps now,” he whispered against her cheek.
Ever so slowly, she turned her face around toward his, shifting enough to look him in the eye. “What is your name?” she breathed against his lips, using the rahke to punctuate her threat.
“Mykal tal'Mamba.”
“Mykal,” she whispered, letting his name roll on her tongue like fine wine. “If you come with me, I’m going to ask my Blood to pin you flat on your back with their rahkes so I may wallow in your blood and taste every wound we’ve given you.”
His eyes bled silver, his dragon peeking out from behind his dark desert eyes. “Every wound?”
She nodded. Lady above, her mouth already watered at the thought.
“My heart beats for you, brightheart.” He pushed harder against her rahke until the blade broke his skin. His breath sighed out against her lips. “Do as you will with me.”
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
SO MUCH SURROUNDING STONE MADE THE DRAGON PACE UNEASILY WITHIN HIM. Mykal could not soar free of this place if she changed her mind. He kept very quiet and unassuming as she led him into her Palace. He watched while she directed her people to provide an entire wing of guest quarters for the Sha’Kae al’Dan, and large rooms for the Keldari in the adjacent wing, separated only by a courtyard. The temptation to invite the barbarians to Dance would be great.
Of course, he noted that she’d requested only two rooms for his fellow tals. Yet he displayed no outward anticipation or demands. By the dark looks her young Reds continued to cast his way, he might very well find himself staked out in the desert beneath the roasting sun before she was done with him.
After her guests were seen to, there were messages to write in order to request new ambassadors from those countries which had betrayed her. The remaining Council sat huddled together like frightened rabbits. Disgusted, he studied her Blood instead, for at least they’d proven themselves fearless.
They would have each died without his assistance and they knew it. Only he’d been able to provide her the blood she needed to access her power once they were felled by the attack. That indebtedness burned like an itch between their shoulders every time one of them looked at him. His little smiles didn’t help matters much, he admitted, but he especially couldn’t resist smiling at her First Blood.
Dharman. His main competition. The Red stood at her back and glowered. The more he glared, the more Mykal smiled.
An intolerable eternity later, she finally pushed tiredly up out of her chair and led the way toward her bedchamber without a single glance in his direction. He could almost convince himself she’d forgotten about his presence entirely, but tenseness remained in her shoulders even after she shut the door and privacy was ensured.
Outwardly, she remained controlled and calm. The First Blood helped remove her armor, he and the red-haired warrior speaking to her soothingly, giving her the intimate little touches that spoke of great affection and dedication. Inwardly, though, Mykal swore a fierce storm blew in her so cold that it burned. She felt brittle and sharp in his mind, as though…
As though she might break.
Sympathy and understanding welled within him. She’d nearly lost those she held most dear, after already suffering great loss. She needed to release this storm of emotion with her beloved, but she dared not break down before him, a man she rightfully did not trust. He watched silently, trying to decide whether she would most appreciate the dragon or the savage. Should he offer arrogance, and thus drive her to battle and violence? Or better yet, he would once more do what her proud Blood could not.
“In the desert,” he began, ignoring the fierce glares from her two closest warriors, “I would offer you what small water I possessed in exchange for hospitality. Whether you accepted me into your tent only, or your sepah, the entire encampment, or not at all, would be entirely up to you. Keldar is a hard land, a hard life, and you might as easily kill me where I knelt. Water is all in the desert, more precious than blood or family, and if you accepted me, you would be required to share your stores with me. Most guests are killed outright to spare the water, so to offer hospitality first with no gift from me, and then allow me into your private tent, is truly rare.”
She listened but couldn’t look at him.
Slowly so as not to alarm her guard, he unbuckled the leather straps crossed over his chest and disarmed himself, handing his weapons to the nearest warrior. He tugged off his boots and let the taamid slip to the floor. Holding his hands palm up before him, he slowly moved closer. Both warriors bristled, but he came only near enough so she could breathe his scent and touch him if she desired, where he knelt at her feet.
“Once accepted, a guest is often proven more loyal than even a rav or brother by blood. He’s been given water, the most precious commodity in all the desert, followed by shelter from the punishing sun. A guest who dared to kill or harm his host would be the vilest of all creatures, worse than any scavenger or jackal. We Keldari would rather take by force or die in the attempt than sneak and steal a single drop of water.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “So you’re saying that I can trust you simply because you’re my guest?”
“My water is yours.” He softened his voice and hung his head, deliberately shaking his hair forward to hide his face. “My heart is yours, my very life.”
“I don’t want your water,” she retorted, but he couldn’t help but note that she didn’t refuse his heart. She couldn’t; she already held it in the palm of her hand.
Still loose, his hair pooled on the white marble like the foul oil slick spreading in his soul. Shadowed he may be, but he came on bended knee and offered all that he had, willingly, with no pride, no honor, to stand between them. If he didn’t think she’d regret the loss too greatly, he’d hack off his hair, the last symbol of honor that he did not deserve.
“You accepted me as guest into your private tent.” He bowed low, pressing his mouth to the white floor. He rose slightly, and then leaned closer, slowly stretching out his head to press his lips to her boot. “That you might additionally offer a single, precious tear humbles me, brightheart.”
Her breath snagged loudly in her throat, the sob bitten off before it could escape, but her bond shimmered with rains and winds that had not graced the desert in a thousand years and more.
Keeping his eyes low so as not to force aggression on her warriors, he carefully lifted his mouth and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her right hand. “You made a promise to your Reds. Let not my presence as guest interfere.”
She snagged a handful of his hair in her fist, fighting the emotion rising in her. He felt it cresting, a wave of holy water powerful enough to demolish Shanhasson’s Shining Walls. He braced for the onslaught, the burning acid of holy water that might blast his Shadow away entirely. He would take it all, whatever she gave him, gladly.
With a loud cry, she buried her face against her First Blood’s chest and let the water pour from her eyes. She sobbed, wailed, pounding her free hand on his broad chest, even while yanking at Mykal’s hair until his face pressed to her thigh.
“Lady help me, you almost died,” she accused, dashing the tears from her face.
Such a wealth of temptation, a waste that she discarded. He yearned to lick her offering, savoring every drop, even if she did not weep for him.
“I can’t bear to lose you, too.” Her voice broke, her pain slicing through his bond so sharply that he sucked in a deep breath, his own eyes watering in sympathy.
“You will never lose us, na’lanna,” Dharman whispered soothingly. He looked down at Mykal, his face hard, but he gave a short nod. “Without the Black Dragon’s assistance, I fear we all would have died this day.”
“We will die together,” she said, her emotions settling into a calmer sea. “You promised. You won’t leave me alone to grieve again.”
“Never,” Dharman vowed.
Dread clutched Mykal’s throat, for he could not make such a promise to her. He had no promise
to offer, but that he’d treasure whatever she chose to give him and he would fight with the last frantic beat of his heart to ensure she lived free of the same Shadows that tainted him.
“Turn around,” she ordered the Blood, who immediately complied. She pressed trembling lips to the puckered scars the arrows had left in his body. Mykal counted three. The Blood was very lucky to still be alive.
Fresh tears dripped like sweet rain, and he could not help but tilt his head back, open his mouth, and hope she rained onto him.
She kissed each freshly healed wound, and then the red-haired Blood came to take the other’s place. He bore both arrow and sword marks, but she’d healed him as good as new. One by one, her Reds came to her and she kissed their wounds, while her face hardened with the White Dragon's vicious determination. This woman would not hesitate to kill in order to protect her loved ones.
She'd promised to sample each of his wounds, which made the Black Dragon rear his head expectantly. He'd give her all the blood she could hold, and perhaps in her frenzy, she'd allow him a taste of hers again. Hunger unfurled within him like sweeping black wings. He’d do anything, anything at all, to taste her blood again.
Two blades bit into his neck, one on either side, and each Blood dropped a hard, unyielding hand on his shoulders. They knew his hunger, because they carried the same need. Yet the temptation to slaughter her in one glorious bloodbath would never occur to them.
“You don’t trust me if she bleeds.” Mykal smiled and didn’t try to hide the dragon rising in him. “Good. You shouldn’t.”
* * *
“WE SHOULD TAKE CARE OF some preliminaries.” Now, Shannari thought, before I lose my head and do something stupid. “Whatever happens tonight, don't draw my blood.”
“Agreed.” Dharman flashed a command and Lew offered the desert savage a flask. “Drink this.”
Of course he would think of her welfare first, and the birth of the twins had nearly killed her. Yet she couldn't forget the Dream she'd experienced at Dalden Bay. Is that what brought this dragon from his burning sands? A son?
Mykal still knelt close enough she could smell sandalwood, but he hadn’t dared come closer. Not with two rahke tips buried in his throat. He stared up at Dharman, face flat and devoid of emotion. “What is it?”
“Drakkar,” Dharman replied. “If you drink a cup of this each day with us, you’ll be unable to give na’lanna Qwen a child.”
Mykal blinked, the silver in his eyes fading to darkness. “You all drink this?”
“Aye. Even her mate drank it before his death. Her delivery of the twins was difficult and he didn’t wish to risk her life again. If you refuse, I shall refuse you access to her bed, no matter how much she wants you.”
Emptiness spread in Mykal’s eyes, sending her heart rate up another notch. She might carry this warrior's blood bond, but she didn't hold the same trust and affection for him as she did for her Blood. Inevitably, they would fight to determine supremacy. Could they control him enough to avoid bloodshed? If he hurts one of my Blood, I'll never forgive myself for bringing him here.
“Why should she allow you such control over whom gives her pleasure?” Mykal drawled in that pleasant voice that made chills slither down her spine. “Is she not High Queen? Does she not command your bonds?”
Dharman didn’t advance or move, but he seemed to take up more space. His shoulders were broader, his biceps bulging, his thighs and chest rock hard and more than ready to pummel the slender savage from Keldar.
Her heart thumped harder with anxiety. Despite the size difference, it would not be an easy fight for her young Blood. Mykal had cooperated so far, but she fully expected him to show his true colors soon. He was Shadowed. She knew very well what that meant with respect to her. He had nearly twice the age of her young Blood, and his eyes were even older than that, as though a truly ancient soul lived inside.
Nothing would surprise or shock him. Certainly nothing would cause him fear, least of all her honorable Blood.
Then he’ll fear the ivory rahke in my hand, she swore. I won’t risk their lives just to have him.
“I am First,” Dharman replied slowly, each word ringing with determination. “I control who comes to her bed and what happens there. I say again, if you refuse to protect her life by ensuring she doesn’t carry a child, then you’ll never be allowed to touch one hair on her head.”
Mykal turned that empty gaze on her and the hairs rose on her arms. “What say you, brightheart? Is this so?”
Tension coiled in her stomach and pressure simmered in the back of her mind, as though she needed to be somewhere, doing something, urgently, that she couldn't quite remember. Her palms dampened and her stomach churned queasily. She had to be absolutely sure before even considering another child, and drakkar would give her time for the Lady's will to unfold. “Drink it as he says or I’ll send you to sleep with your tals.”
Lips curving in that smug dragon smile, Mykal practically purred. “Excellent. Bottoms up, gentlemen.”
Stunned, both by his ready acceptance and his strange un-Keldari words, she watched as Lew held the flask to his mouth. The long column of Mykal's throat worked on the fluid and his eyes flashed. With amusement? Anticipation?
The black bond in her mind radiated a strange, overwhelming relief. Why would Mykal be relieved that her Blood had enforced this rule? Even odder, the dragon he carried howled and clawed at his mind, but he ignored it completely. Each swallow looped another chain on the beast until it lay muzzled in the corner of his mind, glaring with vile hatred.
Breathing deeply to calm her nerves only served to bring more of his sandalwood scent into her lungs. The slow burn of desire heated her blood, and she hated it. She hated feeling so vulnerable to his appeal despite the questions and doubts darkening her mind. She had too many questions to dare take this man into her bed, but she couldn't send him away. She couldn't deny the affect he had on her.
At that thought, Mykal surged forward. He disregarded the blades at his throat and the rumbled warning from Dharman. She unsheathed her rahke and braced for full-scale war.
Crouched on all fours, Mykal lowered his head to the floor but kept his gaze locked on her. He swirled his tongue against the white marble in long, open-mouthed licks and made a sound that sent shards of ice shrieking down her spine. It took her a moment to realize he was licking every single tear she'd cried. A man didn't stare up at her, but a silver-eyed Black Dragon burning with thirst.
* * *
TWO RAHKES IN THE CUR’S neck hadn't stopped him. Dharman glared at Jorah and Lew both, but what could they do? It might take force enough to kill the savage to control him, and they dared not wound na’lanna Qwen’s heart.
Mykal sat back on his heels and licked his chops. “Now I have two more wounds for you to taste, brightheart.”
Her eyes flared, her breathing deepening to seek his accursed scent that she found so compelling.
Tense, Dharman waited for a signal from her on how she wanted to proceed. It mattered naught how much she’d come to love him, nor that she’d finally accepted him into her heart and bed as First, if she now disregarded the hierarchy they’d established to take this man.
Casually, she walked toward the kneeling savage, her hips swaying seductively, her eyes glowing with desire.
Sick at heart, Dharman barely breathed. At least he could still serve as First Blood. If she wanted this other warrior instead, he’d not prevent it, but she couldn’t expect him to come to her bed and join another warrior who’d taken his place. Rhaekhar had been different. He would have obeyed Khul as First without question, but this Shadowed man? Never.
No one else stood between her and whatever dark deed the Endless Night had commissioned this man to commit.
She smiled, and the hair on Dharman’s neck prickled. He’d bet his rahke that the savage was sweating. She touched the ivory rahke to Mykal’s cheek, trailed it down his neck, and without a single muscle in her face or body betraying her, she jammed
it to the hilt in his shoulder. A painful wound, but not life threatening.
“Now you have a third.” She jerked the blade out and lifted it to her mouth. Mykal hadn’t made a sound when she’d stabbed him, but when she began to lick the blade, he groaned deep in his throat. “When my Blood tell you to stay put, you had best do so. They may spare your life out of consideration for me, but I assure you, I won’t hesitate to kill you if I must.”
Relief nearly made Dharman’s knees sag. He said nothing and made no request through the bond, but she still came to stand before him. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she dropped her head against his chest over her mark, and his breath exploded out. She reached out to Sal and he came to her so fast his hair flapped and fluttered about his shoulders to fall into her face. She fisted her hand in that hair and teasingly set her teeth in Dharman’s chest.
Vulkar, she knew what her teeth did to him.
“I want a bath, and I want you.” She turned her head enough to leave her mouth on his skin but she could still peek up at him through Sal’s hair. “You decide the order, na’lanna First Blood.”
In a span of heartbeats, she had reaffirmed his position not just as First Blood but as First in her heart and bed.
He turned her around toward Sal and shifted them all around so he could stare over her shoulder at Mykal.
“Put your mouth on whatever flesh I uncover,” Dharman ordered the other Blood.
His voice was thick and rough but he didn’t care. He fisted his hands in her shirt, and since it was filthy and ruined anyway, he ripped it open. Sal went to his knees and eagerly inhaled her breasts.
Her scent heated with roses, her bond smoldering in his mind, but Dharman felt the uneasy flutter in her stomach. :Not like this.:
:Why not?: He kissed her neck and laved Rhaekhar’s old mark on her shoulder with his tongue while he worked at the closure on her pants. :No sense in dirtying your sheets before your bath.:
He worked the leather open and slid his hands back around her waist, giving Sal time to lick his way down her stomach. He bit the tender flesh, a light pinch between his teeth, and her entire body jolted between them.
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