He returned the gesture. “My thanks, shaman.”
While he heaved to his feet, she stayed within arm’s reach in case he stumbled. It would wound his dignity, but she’d rather that than he injure himself in a fall. Each excruciatingly painful kabu ritual took hours, and enduring one was a rite of passage in and of itself. Depending on the kind of marking, some took multiple rituals to complete. The young man remained steady on his feet, brushed a hand over his short hair. He collected his weapons from beside the mat and moved to join a group of boys near his own age. Several wore fresh tattoos, and Kadira eyed them critically. Hers were just as good, she thought. The young Jassim she’d just marked seemed to think her work fine, and she’d been busy with requests this past week from Wanderers from every clan present. Most had been younglings, but there’d been a few warriors wanting proof of their battles, their kills engraved upon them. Couples and triads had asked for permanent bond marks to be set into their right wrists, signs of their lifelong commitment.
Here, people from any clan might ask her to perform the kabu ritual upon them. Feuds didn’t matter at Rites, so she’d even marked a few who openly warred with the Badawi. She shook her head. It was a time away from time, the Rites.
Cleansing her tools, she placed them into her belt pouch. A few quick snaps and her mat was folded and tucked under her arm. She kept her sword hand free. Though it was Spring Rites, some habits never died. Caution was second nature to her, to anyone who wished to survive in the Wasteland.
The harsh sun reflected off of her clan’s auto. Flaking rust made holes in the metal, but having a running motor was a sign of prosperity few clans could manage. She laid the mat in her satchel and slipped it behind one of the hammered metal wheels. They’d need to trade with Ezra’s clan to get a few spares. These were corroding in the desert sand. More important than new wheels, they’d need fuel to power it. The noxious concoctions Ezra created could keep it going for much longer than what had been available to her father’s trader caravan. If their fuel ran dry, they had to use their few precious horses to draw the auto. Kadira sent a swift prayer to the goddess that negotiations went well with the Haroun chieftain.
Akilah approached, and Kadira’s pulse quickened. Her clanswoman’s promise of fulfillment echoed in her mind. At nightfall, Kadira’s purification time would end. Only a handful of hours remained.
The other woman dipped her chin in a swift nod, her face set in stern lines. “You need to come now.”
“Trouble?” Kadira’s hand flew to the hilt of her sword.
“Yes, but not the kind that requires a blade.” A smile slashed across her friend’s face. “The bartering with Haroun has taken a disturbing turn, one that will interest you.”
“Disturbing? How?” She shook her head, unable to fathom what could interest her specifically. She was a warrior and a shaman, not a chieftain or even an advisor to one. “What does Haroun want?”
“You.”
She blinked. Blinked again. Then she pivoted on a heel and marched across their camp to the large tent where the chieftains and advisors of both clans sat cross-legged in a loose circle, all men except the Badawi chieftain.
But her chieftain’s words made Kadira’s heart skip two full beats.
“Are you offering a bond to Kadira?”
Ezra stiffened, utter horror widening his eyes. Because of her approach or because of the question put to him? “No. I have no wish to offer a bond to any partner.” He inclined his head to Kadira, who kept her face impassive. “Though it would be an honor to any man or woman to bond with your clanswoman.”
“What exactly are you offering?” She knew she spoke out of turn, but Chieftain Safia gave a small nod. She tried to read the older woman’s expression, to see what her leader wanted, but could decipher nothing.
Unfolding his long length from the floor, Ezra turned to Kadira. He wore only a loincloth, and she had to fight to keep her gaze on his face. His golden eyes met hers, the dappled light of the tent playing over the curving kabu marks on the left side of his face. The marks of a chieftain. “I am offering to provide fuel to last your clan until the Rites of Fall.”
So much. Shock rocked through her, but she compressed her lips and refused to let her surprise show. “What are you asking in exchange?”
His gaze flickered for the briefest of moments, and she noted a fine tension running through his muscles. Like her, he was not as casual as he seemed. “You. In my bed, exclusively, for the three remaining weeks of this Rite. I understand that you cannot engage in sexual activities until sundown this day, and the term of my agreement begins then.”
This time, she knew her shock reflected on her face. Anger hit her with all the force of a broadsword. She stepped forward until only a handspan remained between them, narrowed her eyes to slits. “I think trading your wares in the city has tarnished your view of women, Chieftain Haroun. I am no Rose. I do not sell my body as Whores do. I am a Wanderer, a warrior. No one takes of me what I am not willing to give.”
Ela curse him for treating her as he would no woman born a Wanderer, for singling her out and degrading her.
He drew in a breath, his broad chest expanding to the point he nearly brushed her breasts. Unwanted, unwarranted longing suffused her, and she curled her fingers into fists. His voice was quiet when he spoke, intimate and just for her. “I have never had an unwilling woman in my arms, and I do not wish for one now. My offer was to acknowledge the sacrifice you would make in not participating in the full extent of the Rite. If the thought of my touch sickens you, then I withdraw my offer and extend an apology to you and to your clan.”
“And does this offer require your fidelity to me as well?” She kept the sneer out of her tone. Barely.
“It does, yes.” The heat of his body enfolded her, sent prickles down her skin. “I have always desired you, this you know.”
Yes, she knew. Just as she had always desired him, but had been reluctant to give in to the temptation of a man who drew her in like a moth to flames. In the end, the moth was burned, and she’d suspected she would fare no better. She cast a glance toward Akilah and saw a moment’s anxiety flitter across her friend’s features. His offer was generous, would do much to help her clan. Would he decline to bargain further if she refused him? She’d never heard that he was a petty man, but he was a man and had a man’s pride.
“A year.” The words fell, unbidden, from her lips.
“Pardon?”
Her gaze went back to him, and she arched an eyebrow. “I will agree to your arrangement if you provide a year of fuel to Clan Badawi, from this Spring Rite to the next Spring Rite. For my…sacrifice.”
This time, when he drew in air, he did rub against her breasts. She refused to back away, and she knew he would not. Even her outrageous counteroffer wouldn’t dissuade him from the course he’d set. Excitement sizzled through her veins, speeding her pulse. His mouth worked for a moment before he bit out, “Done. Be in my tent at sunset.”
He dipped his chin in a sharp nod to Chieftain Safia before he strode out of the tent, his advisors hastily standing to follow.
A great sigh bellowed out of Akilah, and the tense silence Kadira had barely noticed when she had confronted Ezra dissipated. Chieftain Safia stretched her legs out before her, and her consort stroked a hand down the kabu markings on the right side of his face, those that designated him a consort rather than a chieftain in his own right. He sighed. “Mighty El.”
Safia grinned. “I thought you would gut him.”
“I considered it, but decided there were better ways to bleed him dry.” Kadira shrugged, caressing her dagger.
“My thanks for your restraint. A feud with the Haroun would be unwise.” The chieftain flicked her fingers. “I cannot believe he consented to such steep terms.” Her grin widened. “Your reputation in battle is excellent, but I’ve not heard of your great prowess as a lover.”
Akilah chuckled, the sound mellow. “She is that good. Perhaps you should try her,
Chieftain.”
Rolling her eyes at both women, Kadira shook her head. That both the chieftain and her consort had looked her over with sudden interest was unnerving. She held up her hands. “I can only satisfy one chieftain at a time, especially with the conditions of Haroun’s offer.”
She bowed to Safia and her advisors, wishing to extricate herself as quickly as possible. Akilah followed behind, exiting the large tent with almost as much haste. She swung an arm around Kadira’s shoulders. “We will have to delay our pleasures until after the Rite ends. Pity, but I’m most certain Ezra will keep you entertained.” Her tone lightened with teasing. “Just not quite as entertained as I could.”
“You’ve lain with him before?” The question was sharper than Kadira liked, and she knew Akilah noticed.
“No.” Akilah’s pale eyes squinted. “He has many lovers at Rites, but never me. His demand of exclusivity is odd. Even most bonded mates do not require it.”
“Some do. Such things are negotiated between the mates.” Kadira shrugged. “What do I know of such things? I have never been bonded, not even temporarily.”
A tiny sliver of her wondered if she had never been offered any kind of bond because of her trader blood. Ezra’s obvious disgust at the suggestion made renewed rage bolt through her. He thought her good enough to bed, to buy, but not good enough to bond with. Her hand locked tight around her dagger. He wanted a willing woman, did he? A thin smile flicked on and off her face. She’d show him just how willing a warrior could be, and how much it cost to tangle with one.
Ezra swiped the rough cloth over his skin, removing the excess moisture from his ablutions. The deep caves where his people encamped during the winter months, where he kept many of his supplies for his inventions, had an underground spring used for bathing. Water was too precious to spare in the open Wasteland, but he missed submerging himself in the warm liquid and was eager to return home after the Rite. Despite the cold, he and a contingent of his warriors had been away trading for many months, as did most Wanderer clans. Unlike most Wanderers, he could trade in the cities, where most of his kind were targeted by the Sun Guards who captured Wanderer males to strengthen their own bloodlines. None who were captured ever escaped. Or survived.
If they had, none had returned to their clan. Then again, the shame of being captured would discourage returning. Loss in battle was humiliation enough, but death in battle was preferable to capture by the city’s guards and an end as a stud horse in chains, given over to the Breeder women as a sacrifice to their spiteful god.
Ezra shook his head. Doubtful any man could hope to regain his honor after such disgrace. A slight smile curved Ezra’s lips. The Haroun clan didn’t have to worry about such attacks. Even the Sun Guards didn’t wish to anger a man who held the key to restoring some of their meager technology. Unlike the trader families and Wanderer clans—and even the pirate raiders—the cities hadn’t managed to maintain their advances after the Mighty El scorched the earth, and Ela had retaliated by refusing to allow anything to grow on her plains, making the planet the Wasteland it was now. Always they fought, battling for supremacy with driving sandstorms and sucking funnel clouds, as contentious as the clans themselves. The cities had huddled together, herded there like animals by their foreign goddess, while necessity made those outside snatch up any machinery they could lay their hands on. Whatever it took to survive the sea pirates, the road pirates, the feuding clans, the city guards.
Legend said the world was once an ocean of lights and autos and buildings that reached to the sky. All that remained were rusted scraps of metal that Ezra repurposed into useful objects. Objects people paid him dearly for. He did not look to the past, as those in the city did. He looked to the future. Security for his clan, honor for his people. And a blade through the heart for anyone who got in his way.
He scrubbed the cloth over his hair and face, setting aside his musings as anticipation thrummed through him. The sun had set, and Kadira would come to him soon. Her honor would demand it, even if her pride balked. He’d assumed his offer would either get her to agree with him, or it would make her so angry she tried to kill him, and he could twist that into a different kind of passion. She need never know he would have paid a great deal more to have her, to push past her resistance and force her to acknowledge their attraction to each other.
The sound of drums broke the silence of the gathering night. The beginning of the evening’s festivities. He had more private festivities in mind. There was no scrape of boots on the ground, no rush of wind as the tent flap was pushed aside, but he became aware of Kadira in the tent with him. He tossed the rag to a low table, turned to face her, and felt his cock rise at the sight of her. Gone were the amulets and the pelts that held her kabu chiseling tools, though she still wore the brief leather outfit. Her hair had been freed of the ceremonial braids, rippling in dark waves to her hips.
Not speaking, she approached with the predatory stride of a hunter. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back away. He’d waited too long for this moment, and had paid dearly to get it. Her head tilted back, and her gaze met his. He drew in a deep breath at the naked heat reflected there, and he leaned forward, wanting to taste her luscious mouth.
He froze when he felt the prick of a blade along the underside of his jaw. A smug grin flickered over her face, and he shifted away from her, but her dagger stayed at his jugular. His heart thundered in his chest, and his cock grew even harder.
“On the pallet.” She pressed the knife deeper into his flesh.
Taking a step back, two, he eased down to the thick bed of layered rabbit pelts. She came down on top of him, straddling his waist. The feel of her naked sex against his almost made him groan. She rocked on him, and he realized she was as primed as he was, her folds plump and slick. He swallowed, and the blade nicked his skin. A bead of blood trickled down his neck.
Her gaze followed the path of the blood before she met his eyes again. Only a fool would call the baring of her teeth a smile. She reached her free hand between them to grasp his cock, then she lifted herself to take him inside her hot pussy.
The dagger bit into his skin as she impaled herself on his cock. He understood the unspoken message. If he failed to make her come, she would slit his throat.
He would not fail.
The rhythm she set was fast, punishing. Their skin slapped together, a carnal contrast to the drums pounding outside. His fingers fisted in the furs beneath him, fighting the need to touch her, to come deep inside her. She was tight and wet around him, the feel of her better than he had dared dream. The leather of her loincloth stroked him as he rolled his hips, grinding his pelvis into her clit. Air hissed between her teeth, and moisture gushed from her core, but he didn’t allow himself to smile. The dangerous woman had a knife to his neck, after all.
Their breathing sped, lungs bellowing as sweat slid down their skin. Her lush scent, aroused woman and something uniquely Kadira, teased his nose. He groaned, the sound low and tortured even to his own ears, but still he never looked away from her. Their gazes locked, and he imagined his expression was as taut with lust as hers was. Her eyes gleamed with dark fire, and she rode him harder, faster. Her pussy flexed around him each time he pierced her, and it was almost enough to drive him to lunacy.
Moving to change the angle of his thrusts, he dug his cock deep, shoving upward every time she pushed down. She froze over him, her gaze going glassy and blank, and then her sex pulsed hard around his shaft, squeezing him so tight he could barely breathe. He clung to his control by the very tips of his fingers, determined not to end this little game just yet.
“Oooh.” The softest of shuddery moans slipped past her lips, and her eyes closed for just a moment.
The tiny opening was all he required. His hand snapped around her wrist, a quick press of his thumb, and her fingers went slack on the blade. It fell away, and in a swift roll, he reversed their positions until he laid atop her, his cock still hard and buried within her pussy.
Her free hand shot out to jab into his ribs, but he caught it, imprisoning both her wrists in one of his hands and pulling her arms over her head until she was forced to arch into him. Rage tightened her features, and she growled at him. “I will kill—”
He covered her lips with his, and she bit him hard enough to draw blood. The iron taste coated his tongue, but he thrust it into her mouth and did the same with his cock in her wet sex. She bucked against him, her heels slamming into his legs. He winced at the pain, but her movements only drove his cock deeper inside her, and he groaned. She twisted her arms, and he tightened his grip. Using his other hand, he jerked at the leather ties on her breast band, loosening it until he could cup her and tease her bared nipple.
A shiver passed through her, and she pushed her breast deeper into his palm, her resistance abruptly leaching away. He broke his mouth from hers, and her eyes were wide and wary, her breathing uneven. Searching her face, he found none of the fury of moments before. He leaned in and brushed her mouth with his, tasting her the way he’d wanted to when she’d entered his tent. Sweet, tart, the flavor making his cock throb where it nestled within her. He licked her lips, suckling the bottom one.
She seemed startled by the gentle contact, but she sighed a little when he pulled away again. “Let my hands go.”
Jolting, he obeyed. He’d forgotten he held her down, so lost was he in the feel of her, the taste of her. Bringing one wrist to his mouth, he kissed the tender flesh, and her pulse pounded under his lips. He smiled, flicking his tongue out to savor the salty essence. Rocking his hips in infinitesimal strokes, he stimulated them both.
“Kadira.” He drew back, propping himself on his forearms. It shoved him deeper between her thighs, and they both groaned. Leaning to the side, he tugged at the ties on her clothes until he could peel them away and toss them over his shoulder. Soft, naked flesh sliding against his. Her hot, wet channel clamping down on his cock. “Mighty El, you are tight.”
Wasteland: The Wanderer Page 2