by Jess Granger
“What happened to them?”
“My friend was already pregnant when I found her. She’d been forced by men willing to pay for the privilege. She died in childbirth.” His voice sounded hollow and so filled with pain. “I couldn’t reach my sister.”
Yara felt a tear spill over her cheek as her stomach turned in her disgust and rage. “I’m sorry.”
He looked at her. “You remind me of her—my friend.”
“What was she like?”
He smiled a sad smile as he leaned the guitar up against the side of the bed. His gaze dipped down, then he slowly drew it back up to hers. “Her eyes were shaped like yours, and your smile reminds me of hers. She was driven and focused like you, but she wasn’t as funny.”
Yara laughed softly. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m serious.” Cyrus admitted. “We had a very hard childhood. There wasn’t much to laugh about. I just wanted to hear her laugh. I never did.”
“Is this why you came after me?”
He swallowed and looked around, not focusing on anything. Eventually, he just closed his eyes. “I knew what they did to her. I could see it in my mind, and I couldn’t stop it. I still see it.”
Yara took his hand. He squeezed it so tight, but she bore the pain of it without flinching. His dark green eyes teemed with emotion as he stared at her. “I could not leave you to that fate. Stranger or no, I knew what you would suffer. I can’t bear that weight again.”
Yara leaned forward and caressed his lips in a soft, soothing kiss. He stayed still, allowing her to take the initiative and comfort him for a moment before he reached up and cupped her face with both his hands.
“I should go,” he whispered against her lips.
“No, you shouldn’t.” She reached out and ran the tips of her fingers over the raised edge of his scar. “Stay with me.”
He kissed her. It was a hungry kiss, full of longing and sadness. He pulled back just enough to break it and lean his forehead against hers. “God, Yara, I can’t. I’m going to hurt you.”
She kissed him.
“Now you’re going to be noble?” she asked, after breaking the kiss. She knew this would never work out, and she didn’t care. She had never cared about anyone in her life, except for him. She wanted him. Yes, there would be consequences, and she’d deal with that. She just wanted him.
She let the blanket slide from her naked breasts. A tingle of nerves and anticipation slid through her as she reached out and caressed the short curls just behind his ears. His gaze drifted down to her breasts, and she felt him tremble.
“Please,” she murmured, leaning close to his ear. “I need you, and I know you need me, too.”
16
CYN HUNG HIS HEAD AS HER DEWY LIPS TEASED, CARESSED, SEDUCED. WITH such a simple thing as a kiss, she drew him in.
What was he going to do?
He felt so tight, each of his muscles humming with an unseen energy, writhing in the desire to touch her skin and feel her soft and willing beneath him.
He couldn’t let himself cross the line.
But he burned.
God, he burned.
For once he didn’t want to think. He was so tired of his incessant memory—of the constant strings of information that flowed through his head. He had even studied the ancient art of Tanro in a futile attempt to quiet his mind. He was done with thinking. He was tired of darkness and pain, of war and death. He just wanted to feel.
Only seeing his sister happy and in love had given him any sense of peace.
Until now.
Yara trailed her kisses over his bare shoulder, then nipped him with sharp and playful teeth.
“Shakt,” he whispered under his breath. He was falling. He was falling hard and it would kill him.
He didn’t care.
He caressed Yara’s damp hair as he rose to his feet. Yara kissed his bare chest. With her tongue she teased his nipple. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt like he’d just stepped out onto a very thin limb. She kissed his scar, then let her fingers delicately brush over the skin of his abdomen as she reached for the waist of his jeans.
The last light of the sun died, casting the room in the dim shadows of dusk. He stroked her shoulders as she knelt on the bed. His damn mind remembered the feel of her skin beneath his hands, but this was so much softer, so much sweeter without the pain and fear. He could let himself really touch her without his mind screaming that he was violating her somehow. The blanket slid from the pale skin of her naked hips. Her toned muscles looked so sleek and smooth in the dim light. Now his mind screamed for a different reason.
She was glorious, absolutely glorious, and he wanted her.
He needed her.
She unfastened his jeans, her long fingers manipulating the classic buttons, and then she slid the damp cotton down his thighs. Her full lower lip dropped open just slightly as she looked at him. He let her look, enjoying the peaceful yet hungry expression on her beautiful face.
She trailed the tips of her fingers down his abdomen, and he felt the light touch deep in his body.
He slid his hand over the back of her head to her neck and tipped her face up so he could kiss her. He needed her. He needed to taste her, to feel her. He needed it like sunlight.
He surged forward into the bed, covering her naked body with his own. The last of the light died, enveloping them in darkness.
It didn’t matter. He could feel her body, and his memory would never forget the beauty of it. He kissed her, hard, commanding. She was his.
She reached up to touch him and he caught her wrist, pinning it into the soft pillows near her ear.
“Mercy,” she gasped as she fisted her hand and slid her thigh along his. “Please,” she begged.
She needed him; by Ona, she was on fire. Her body thrummed beneath him as she pulled against his firm grip on her wrist, testing his strength. He mastered her with such a simple touch, and the pleasure of it was killing her.
She did everything she could to touch him, to coax him to end this exquisite torture, but he held firm. He was in control. All she could do was open herself to him, in all ways.
He kissed her, stroking, soothing, even as he kept his weight propped up on one elbow. She felt the cool leather of his bracer near the side of her face, the sensation heady and erotic.
She opened herself, inviting him in. She wanted his warm weight pressing into her. Sweet Creator, she was on fire.
He settled his weight on her, and she almost cried with the pleasure of it, yet he didn’t let go of her wrist. With his free hand, he traced patterns, gently stroking her face, her neck, her chest.
Each stroke he followed with soft kisses, sometimes nips, as he played her body like his precious guitar. Her nerves came alive, until she felt a vibrant energy building within her, tuning itself to his touch.
“You know Tanro?” she breathed. She’d only ever heard tantalizing rumors of the spiritual practice and the ability of Tanro masters to tune and manipulate a body’s energy. Healing through sex.
“I know a lot of things,” he whispered back.
The pleasure was so intense, she pulled in earnest against his firm grip, but it was useless. He wouldn’t let go. He was in control.
She felt something gathering within her, an energy deep in her core. It pulsed out, reaching toward him. She tried to fight the flood of pleasure as he kissed her breasts. It was all so intense. She just couldn’t let herself give in to it. But he didn’t let her shy away, didn’t let her distance herself.
She could feel his hard body poised at her entrance.
She didn’t want to escape.
She let her fist fall open.
He kissed her, and with a surge of his body, sank deep into her, filling her, claiming her.
She cried out as his palm released her wrist and slid into hers. His fingers twined between hers, and she gripped him tight, even as he started to move within her.
Her pleasure was so raw, so intense as he slid i
nto her over and over. Every time he pulled back, she felt the pang of loss until he surged forward again, pushing her closer to the exquisite tension building within. She matched the rhythm of his hips. She clung to his back, feeling the tension building in his powerful muscles.
“Yara,” he gasped as he gripped her hand tighter. He relaxed, settling more of his weight on her willing body. And she took him, all of him, driven by the madness that demanded more pressure, more friction, just more.
“Yara,” he whispered again before capturing her in a stunning kiss. It was too much, she couldn’t take it. It was too much.
She reached up with her free hand and grasped the back of his neck. His soft hair tickled her palm as he kissed her neck while his body drove into her over and over.
By Ona, she’d never felt anything like this. Sliding her hand over his strong shoulder, she met him with her hips, even as a deeper, more elemental feeling began to grow in her heart.
“Yara,” he begged, kissing her forehead.
“Take me,” she demanded.
He squeezed her hand as he let out a hard breath, then thrust into her with a fast and relentless passion.
Yara lost herself in the building pressure. It swelled, filling her, until the pleasure rushing through her body seemed to push out of her and flow through her to him.
They were one, so completely one. He drove her to the edge of something she had never understood, and with a coarse shout of passion, pushed her to a place she didn’t know existed.
When the release came, it consumed her with a deeper potency than the rush of any fight. She let herself go, and in that moment she no longer felt the sting of loneliness.
Cyrus collapsed on top of her, his hot body trembling, even as hers couldn’t stop shaking. She welcomed his warm weight as she fought to breathe. The thrumming pulse of their joining echoed through her body.
By the Creator, she felt alive.
Cyrus kissed her, and she kissed him back without reservation. Their hands remained linked as he eased to her side and pulled the blankets over them.
His fevered lips caressed the backs of her knuckles as he squeezed her hand, refusing to let go.
“Cyrus,” she began, but didn’t know what to say.
He brushed the hair off her temple and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, then her lips.
She sighed, as the lingering warmth of his love pulsed within her. Relaxed and sated, she curled into the security of his body. She felt both exhausted and energized—completely overcome.
“Rest, Yara,” he whispered as he kissed her one last time. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
THE NEW LIGHT OF DAWN CREPT INTO THE ROOM AS YARA SLOWLY OPENED her eyes. A light breeze made the gossamer netting around her flutter. She blinked, trying to process everything that had just happened.
She stretched her back, then noticed Cyrus’s fingers still twined with hers.
She smiled.
Sweet Creator, it felt good.
She was surprised he was still with her. A part of her had expected him to leave the bed. But no, he lay beside her, sleeping as deeply and as still as any Azralen.
She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.
He was so beautiful. She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek then let her fingertips trail along the edge of his jaw.
For the first time, he really seemed at peace. She chuckled. Maybe he should sleep more.
She relaxed on the pillows as she watched him. He bore so much pain. What he had told her about his sister and his young love had hit her so deeply in her heart, she still felt the sting of it.
She had a hard time believing that such depravity could go unchecked. What sort of society just didn’t care about the fate of its children? How had justice become so broken that the disgusting rats that perpetrated such violence would have to be stopped by a young boy?
She stroked his face again. He was strong, and he was a good and noble man.
When had she ever felt this close to anyone? She looked at him, and it triggered an ache deep within her. It was as if everything about her just needed to be with him. She wanted to stand beside him, spar with him, challenge him, meet his constant challenges.
A bird sang from somewhere outside while the low moan of one of the great reptilian beasts rumbled over the wetlands. Again, the breeze from the window caressed the nets. The movement was ethereal and hypnotic.
This was a place of beauty.
She finally felt at peace.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered to herself as she pulled the sheet over her naked breasts. The hollow feeling inside her chest had dissipated.
She had felt the ache there for so long. In her whole life, she had never mattered to anyone. Her bloodline had mattered. Her talent had mattered. Her position mattered. But she had not mattered. If she’d been kicked out of the Elite, shamed or rejected in any way, no one, not even her parents, would have stood up for her. They would have rejected her and cast her off.
No one would support her no matter what.
But here was a man who had given everything to save her life, and hadn’t ever asked for anything in return. He just wanted to know she was safe.
They were connected.
She couldn’t deny it. And she didn’t want to.
She mattered to him.
And he mattered to her.
She smiled. Her body tingled as she clasped his hand tighter. How was she going to give this up?
Would knowing that she had mattered to someone be enough to carry her with strength and conviction as she led her people? The thought of trying to be strong daunted her. She couldn’t be herself. She didn’t want to be hard, untrusting, but the truth was, any one of her sisters would stab her in the back to secure their own political fortunes.
She was expected to be disconnected from everyone and everything. Impossible. Eventually, isolation would drive her mad.
How could she give herself to her people and understand them if she became a lone figure on a lofty throne, disconnected from them?
Too many questions. They tormented her.
She just wanted to enjoy the peace of feeling like she belonged with him, even if it was only for a moment.
Yara continued to stroke his hand, then touched the edge of his bracers. He hadn’t taken them off. The knives they held seemed so much a part of him.
She wished he would find peace in his life, a time when he wouldn’t need weapons.
She drew her fingertips over one of the hilts when her attention fixed on the edge of the bracer.
What was on his skin?
She looked closer, black and red surrounded his wrist just beneath the edge of the leather. Did he have a tattoo?
Glancing at the falcons circling her own wrist, she felt a heavy weight on her chest. His eyes, they didn’t look like Earthlen eyes. His balance was too good.
All the little details she had been ignoring cut through her mind like the knives in his bracers. His mental abilities, his gift with languages, his long toes.
Her heart raced with fear.
Fima be Merciful, it can’t be.
She turned the hooks locking the bracer on his forearm. He stirred, turning his face away from hers. Her fingers paused on the hook. She had to wait for the right moment to slide it out of the circle of metal that held it. It wouldn’t be long before he woke up.
His breathing hitched.
Yara bit her lip and unfastened the three hooks in quick succession and pulled the bracer away from his arm.
She couldn’t breathe as she stared in shock at the pale blue-tinged skin of his forearm. Around his wrist and elbow, the red and black snakes of Cyrila the Rebel peered up at her, their mouths agape baring their deadly fangs.
Searing pain tore at her heart. No one bore the mark of the Rebel. Only one man in the entire universe would have the guts to mark himself with the snakes.
He clenched her hand as he woke.
Yara’s heart pounded out of he
r chest as she brought her gaze up to his Azralen eyes.
“You’re Cyn.”
17
YARA’S AGONY GRIPPED HER. IT COULDN’T BE TRUE. THE PROOF LAY RIGHT there before her, angry serpents on his wrists. He was Cyn? How did he escape the shadows? It didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t breathe as she stared at him. She had been tricked, manipulated. Her heart faltered.
He’d lied to her.
And she had fallen for it. He had pushed her, challenged her, teased her, played with her, bled for her, healed her, rescued her, and sacrificed for her. With him, she had become more than a thing, more than just an Elite warrior. For the first time in her life, she felt like a whole person. He’d given that to her and in an instant ripped it away.
Her pain sliced at her head. Why? If he was out of the ground shadows, why would he seek her out? It would have taken a lifetime to find him if he had just disappeared into the vastness of the galaxy. Did he think if he seduced her she wouldn’t bring him back to the Grand Sister? He’d broken her down and made her feel. Then he manipulated those new emotions so he could save his own hide.
Was it all just a twisted game?
“Yara?” His musical voice sounded low, uncertain.
She could barely hear it through the cacophony of noise in her head. Fear, uncertainty, confusion gave way as her body ignited. The disarray of her thoughts found their focus in clear, burning rage. The pain still gripping her chest fueled the fire as her thoughts homed in on one thing.
She gripped the hilt of the dagger from the bracer, and in one smooth motion she rolled on top of him and pushed the blade against his throat.
His Azralen eyes went wide with shock as she felt his breathing hitch beneath her bare thighs. He pulled his hands up near his sex-tousled hair and left his palms open in surrender.
She tried to breathe. Her hand shook as she watched a slow drop of blood slide down his neck from the nick of the blade. It wouldn’t take much, and he’d be gone, one less festering rat. Her stomach twisted again as she looked at the face of the man she’d trusted. He’d fought beside her, bled with her.