by Jane Atchley
He stood very close behind her. She felt heat radiating from his body. “What does it do?”
“I cannot tell you.” Duncan put his hands on her upper arms.
“Why not?”
“You are a spy.”
“Ah.” Music swelled in the darkness beyond the tent, not one of the many melancholy tunes favored by their late night violinist, but soft flowing strains. “Is it so late?”
Duncan placed her hand on his shoulder. “He imagines he is helping. Will you dance with me, Faelan?”
“You cook and you dance?”
Catching his lower lip between his teeth, he made that slight shrugging gesture again. “What did you think Holders’ sons did?”
“Oh gosh, I don’t know—plant cane?”
“Heaven forbid. We attend balls, galas, and recitals, play chucker and sail.”
Faelan laughed. “And you gave up all that to become a trooper?”
“What?” Duncan spread his arms wide taking in his tent. “Do you think I made a poor bargain?” Tilting his head to the left and dipping his chin, he glanced up at her. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t know your dances.”
“I do not care. Dancing gives me a reason to hold you.” Duncan’s hand slipped around her waist and tingling heat seeped into her skin. His eyes darkened. He felt their attraction as strongly as she did. “Just follow my lead. One. Two. Three and one two three.”
They swayed together, the space between Duncan’s bed and his chalkboard too confining for dancing. At the end of the melody, Duncan pulled her against his body and kissed her, hot, hard, like the press of his shaft against her abdomen.
Every inch of Faelan’s skin burned to touch him. She fumbled with the buttons on his vest, tugged his shirt out, and ran her hands under it. He groaned against her mouth, but pulled back from her at the same time, his breathing ragged.
“I beg your pardon, Faelan.” Duncan straightened his shirt. “I did not intend to start something I cannot finish. Come. Dinner grows cold.”
Faelan stared at the huge bulge in his trousers. It looked like he could finish it to her. But judging from the speed with which he tucked his shirt in, he didn’t intend to.
She advanced on him, putting her hand flat on his chest. “How is it possible a man who looks like you doesn’t know how to seduce a woman?”
Duncan backed up a step. “My value to my family…” Faelan stepped forward. He stepped back. She stalked him like the predator she was. “My reputation must be impeccable.” The back of Duncan’s knees bumped against his bed. He sat. “I-I-I am not in a position…” Faelan put one knee between his thighs and pushed him back against the pillows. “T-To get bastards.”
She kissed him, stretching her body against his. Raising her head, she smiled into eyes gone so bright with passion they looked feverish. He was so hot and hard beneath her she could feel the pulse of his desire. “Now you are.”
“Faelan. I—”
Her mouth covered his. She fumbled his trousers open, her fingers closed around his thick shaft.
Duncan groaned and freed his mouth. “Ashes, Faelan. Our relative positions are such—”
Snatching off her veil cloth, Faelan wrapped it around both his wrists.
“What are you doing?” He sounded more curious than alarmed.
Pulling his arms over his head, she tied her veil to the hooks used for stowing the bed frame. “I’m changing our relative positions.”
She removed his boots, stripped his trousers off, and crawled up between his thighs. His state of arousal jumped up a notch.
“I could call out.” His voice was a husky whisper.
“But you won’t.” Faelan ran her tongue up the underside of his shaft, loving the rush of power she felt when he shuddered. Straddling his waist, she drew a short knife from its hiding place under his pillow. She traced it down his chest to his navel. His nipples pebbled hard as rocks. His eyes widened. His cock jerked. His reserved manner concealed a kink.
Faelan flashed a wicked smile. “I could gut you, Field Marshal.”
Sucking Duncan’s earlobe between her teeth, Faelan nipped it gently.
His breath quickened, his diamond hard cock pushed against her. Heat rolled off him. “But you will not.”
Flushed with power and desire, Faelan studied Duncan’s face. He enjoyed her pretended mastery. His proper exterior concealed more than one kink, it seemed. What else did he enjoy?
Picking up the thread of the violin’s melody, Faelan rose and unwound her sari in a slow torturous erotic dance. Duncan’s legs bumped against the mattress. He made sounds somewhere between moans and sobs and jerked hard at his bindings, rattling the bed frame.
Faelan stepped out of the mound of blue fabric. Her teasing was driving him wild. Half fearing he wouldn’t last until she mounted him, Faelan crawled up his body, watching her pebbled nipples raise goose-bumps along his stomach.
When she eased down to torture him with her tongue again, Duncan jerked wildly. The cords on his neck stood out with the effort it cost him not to cry out. An outcry would bring his Nhurstari twins. So he held himself silent, if not still, enduring her torment.
Faelan rubbed Duncan’s hot cock’s blunt head back and forth within her slit, teasing her swollen nub with him, wetting him with her fluids. His gaze locked on her face as she raised herself on her knees and eased down on his cock, inch by blissful inch, until she had taken all of him inside her.
Duncan went completely still. For a second Faelan imagined she saw a hint of blue smoke curl from his nostrils. His hard flesh buried so deep inside her felt as if the tip of him branded her heart. His flesh was so hot to the touch she thought they might burst into flame. Wanting more, Faelan leaned forward. With one swift motion she sliced through the veil cloth, freeing his arms.
Duncan surged upward, a force of nature. One hot hand cupped her buttocks while the other supported her back. He got his knees under him and dropped with her onto the bed, pumping into her so hard she felt his stones slapping against her buttocks.
Urgency ruled. He had no time for gentle love making, and Faelan didn’t want gentle. Her wolf stirred within its prison. Duncan’s need for her was frenzied, elemental, and it suited her wolf just fine. Now it was she who tried not to cry out.
Faelan’s teeth sank into his shoulder as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. The need to shift spiraled through her. Just as she felt certain her wolf would escape its bonds, her climax exploded. Wave upon wave of exquisite fiery pleasure scorched her. Simultaneously, Duncan pulled out of her warm sheath and spilled hot seed across her abdomen.
Duncan collapsed beside her and lay very still. Faelan touched his hair, longing to reestablish contact. His shoulder bled from her bite. He touched it, looked at the blood, and pushed himself into a sitting position.
In Faelan’s experience, men were never talkative after sex, but they didn’t despair either. Duncan had wanted her as much as she wanted him. His odd reaction hurt. Crossing to his washbasin, Faelan took a wet cloth and dabbed gently at the bite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to draw blood.”
Duncan raised his head, gave her the tiniest hint of a smile, and took the rag from her. “It is nothing. It will heal by morning. Whatever your expectations were tonight it could not have been…this.”
This had been great, better than great. Faelan sat beside him, pushed his hair from his brow. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He leaned over the edge of the bed and gathered up the midnight blue silk from the floor. “Get dressed, please.”
An order, he was giving her an order. Why? Bodies didn’t lie. He enjoyed what they did together. “Did I displease you?”
Clearly dismayed, Duncan pulled her close. “No. Ashes! No. Faelan, you are everything I dream of. It is just…after…for a little while, I feel…” He paused searching for a word. “Mortal.”
Mortal? The word stung. “You’re not mortal?” Faelan held up her hand. “Don’t answer.
No mortal has a face like yours.”
“This is why I do not bed—Faelan.” Duncan traced the freckles dusting her cheek. “Please understand—this is not about you—about us.” He dipped his chin and gave her the boyish smile that made her weak-kneed. “It soon passes. We can eat cold fish and talk until dawn. Please, Faelan, get dressed.”
His lost-puppy smile and confusing apology didn’t soothe her. Faelan jerked away from his light touch. He did not reach for her again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Faelan gathered her meager belongings, cursing under her breath all the while. What a colossal fool she had acted. Duncan had wanted her to stay the night. Why else had he fashioned a paradise for her? She should have laughed off his odd melancholy. They would have eaten their cold dinner, talked and laughed, and maybe made love again. But no, she let pride steal her single night of bliss. Any minute now, someone would come to escort her to the prisoner exchange, and Duncan would be lost to her forever.
Had she expected him to declare undying love for an enemy spy he was about to swap for his captured troopers? Did she want him to? Their relationship was a dead end. It didn’t stretch beyond war. Duncan had a life in the real world, a family he loved, and so did she.
Her gaze fell on the small stack of books on the table. Faelan cursed the fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. Duncan had given her her heart’s desire. So sex hadn’t left him feeling warm and fuzzy, the man was perfect in every other way. She couldn’t overlook a little post-coital oddity.
“You don’t look happy to be goin’ home, lady.”
Swiping tears off her cheeks, Faelan pasted a smile on her face. “Ky’lara, do you think I should take these books?”
The island woman flipped the top volume open. Her eyebrows arched. “What Addiri need with dees books? You don’t take ’em, it make him sad.”
“Why?” Faelan hugged the books to her chest.
“Why you think?” Ky’lara shook her head. “Addiri must always think of what is good for Holding, never of self. Dis army is same thing. You think he wants you to leave so fierce angry with him?”
“I’m not angry with him.”
Ky’lara shrugged. “Take de books Addiri give to you. Hurry now.”
An escort of Blade Sisters from the Guild of female mercenaries Faelan had seen in the camp and been curious about formed her guard. Among her people, female warriors were unheard of; even she, a shape shifter, had to beg for the role of scout. Faelan studied the women formed up around her.
“Is there something you require?” The Sister in command asked.
Faelan focused on her. “I thought Duncan would be here.”
The sister gave her an all too knowing nod. “Field Marshall Duncan crossed to the parley barge over an hour ago.”
The parley barge was the largest the nearby village of Alba had to offer. Faelan had seen the monstrosity anchored in the center on the river last night, but had not appreciated how large it really was until her small vessel bumped alongside.
The rising wind had turned the river choppy. The barge rocked and bobbed. The canopy shading the assembly fluttered. On the far side of the table sat the three allied generals, Captain Fawr, Lathan Bruin, the twins, and of course, Duncan. Behind him, Red Fist stood at attention along the rails.
Her own people sat with their backs to her. The Descendants’ contingent outnumbered the Allies three to one. Chief-men, no matter how insignificant their clan, considered it a right to attend. Her uncle sat across from Duncan with Quinn and Nicholas at his side.
Nicholas. Ugh.
Stepping from the bobbing boat to the rocking barge in her sari wasn’t easy. Loose trousers and a long tunic would have been more practical, but Quinn had wanted Faelan to look like a princess so she’d worn the red and gold sari. If Faelan had had her way, she would prefer to leap aboard as a wolf. Her wolf, freed from the twins’ binding, wanted to run wild. She caught a fist full of fabric in one hand, reached for the rope ladder with the other, and caught the outstretched hand of Duncan’s young cadet, instead.
Roland gave her a shy smile. “Hold tight, Miss Faelan. I’ll never let you fall.”
True to his word, Faelan found herself on the broad rolling deck, wondering if she’d be able to walk without falling on her backside. She needn’t have worried. The boy’s strong hand and sure gait steadied and steered her to the council table.
As they reached the back row filled with lesser Descendant chief-men, Duncan stood, dragging his entire Allied contingent with him. The Descendants turned in their seats. Her brother smiled, her uncle nodded, Nicholas glared. Faelan didn’t give a flip what Nicholas thought. She only saw Duncan. The chief-men muttered, made signs against the evil eye, and turned back to the front.
Seeing no empty seat on Descendants’ side of the table, Roland’s steps faltered. He glanced to Duncan and the extraordinary occurred. The kin-slayer captain stepped back and offered Faelan his chair at Duncan’s right hand.
If Faelan’s people muttered before, now they roared. Some actually tried to walk away before remembering they were on a boat. Her uncle shouted for order. Duncan held the chair for her and calmly resumed his seat. Captain Fawr took up a position behind him.
“General Foley, allow me to offer refreshments before we begin.” Duncan’s voice was respectful. He did not realize his attention to Faelan’s comfort offended the chief-men or he did, and he didn’t care. She suspected the latter. Duncan did not act without purpose.
By contrast, her uncle’s voice verged on outraged. “This is not a social call. We came here to deliver our terms.” He pushed a packet of papers across the rough plank table.
“I see.” Duncan opened the packet and scanned the contents before passing it to Faelan. “Read this, Miss Foley. Aloud, please. I fear I am confused by the dissimilarities in our languages.”
Read before the chief-men. He couldn’t be serious.
Duncan gave her an encouraging nod and leaned close. “Go ahead, show them.”
Faelan cleared her throat. She stumbled over the first few words. The chief-man shouted, trying to drown her out, but by the time she finished, the only sounds heard on the barge were of rippling wind in canopy and waves slapping the boards.
Duncan folded his hands on the table. “If I understand correctly, you seek vengeance against Captain Fawr and Mister Bruin for murdering your ancestor. But you have no evidence to prove these men did anything other than defend their home against an unprovoked attack. You have refused to hear their testimony. Worse, you have repeated your ancestor’s folly by attacking and killing peaceful people who you admit have done you no wrong.
“As to the Great Ladies of Elhar, I cannot answer such fanciful allegations. Sail the stars? It is outrageous. This parley is at an impasse. The barge master will put you ashore. Good day, sirs.
“Roland, signal the boats, please.” As Duncan pushed to his feet, he pulled a small package out of his boot and dropped it in Faelan’s lap.
Faelan broke the string and tore the paper away. Her lacy silver veil cloth lay within restored whole. Her eyes filled with tears. He was the sweetest man.
Ignoring the confusion Duncan’s abrupt withdrawal caused, Faelan crossed the rolling deck, the veil cloth trailing from her fingers. She stopped mere inches from Duncan who turned giving them that instant eye-to-eye intimacy.
Faelan held out the swath of blue and silver lace. “How did you do this?”
Duncan glanced at her hand and then smiled into her eyes. “It looked so lovely on you. I asked the twins to repair it.”
“Take off your sword belt.”
He arched his eyebrows, but did as she asked. Faelan wrapped the silver cloth around his waist, looped and tied it, then settled his sword belt over it.
“Faelan!”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Quinn holding Nicholas’ arms. The kin-slayer captain placed himself squarely between Faelan and Nicholas. Duncan felt the threat as well. Tension scorched the air around hi
m. It was time to say her goodbyes.
“He isn’t worth it.” Faelan touched Duncan’s perfect face, trailing her fingertips down his stubble covered jaw. “Dream of me.”
The clouds that had threatened all day finally opened, and the first fat raindrops splattered Duncan’s shoulders darkening the bright dragon’s eye blue wool. He swung his leg over the rail, put his foot on the rope ladder’s first rung, and glazed back at her long and hard. “Every night. I swear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Duncan buried himself in work, testing his rockets by day, pouring over trajectory results, and drilling his bridge crews at night. His evening meal, delivered to his tent hours ago, congealed on the table. He had instructed his cadets to turn visitors away so the rustle of the tent flap surprised him.
“I asked not to be disturbed.”
“Like that’s ever stopped me.”
Captain Fawr. Who else? Duncan had actually expected him. It was only a matter of time.
He kept working. “I am not a child, sir. I do not require checking up on.”
The captain’s footsteps came farther into the tent. A nearby chair groaned under his weight. Duncan did not glance up.
“Never thought you did, but the twins—they worry.
“The twins are a pair of old maids. If you are not checking up on me what exactly are you doing?”
“I felt like a game of chess.”
Duncan dipped his pen in the inkwell, paused. “You hate chess, sir.”
“I hate losing at chess.”
He swiveled in his chair to face his captain. “Yet, you have come to me?”
“A man can’t improve if he isn’t challenged.”
Duncan docked his pen, moved to the table where his captain waited, and set up the board. This would not take long. “White or black?”
He offered a choice because it was customary. He already knew Kree would choose white. White moved first, and Captain Fawr thought only of offense. That he might learn something from an opponent’s opening salvo never occurred to him.
“White.”
“Of course, sir.”