“Oh, well you definitely should have made that clear,” Strelzar laughed. “Do you not know me, sir?”
Veria snorted trying to suppress a laugh.
“You think this is funny, Commander?” Browan asked, cocking his head at her.
“Browan,” Veria argued, composing herself, “we didn't have a choice. There's no cover in that terrain—we would have been caught if we didn't have a distraction.”
“Well, your distraction didn't just catch the attention of your targets, it caught the attention of the entire world,” he grumbled. “And you let someone get away?”
“It was a scout,” Strelzar dismissed. “Somebody needed to spread the message.”
“And what message is that?” Browan snapped.
“Be afraid,” Strelzar answered, staring him down. “I think you will find it is a long time before the Separatists, or anyone, tries anything like that again.”
“Well, you are right about one thing,” Browan nodded, “the world is afraid. Afraid of you. And now I have to clean it up.”
Strelzar shrugged and clicked his tongue. “Then maybe you shouldn't have sent us.”
“I didn't have a choice!” Browan argued.
“Neither did we!” Strelzar barked back at him, adopting an intimidating glare, even though he was a fraction of Browan's width and a good four inches shorter.
“You are dismissed,” Browan growled.
“Thank goodness,” Strelzar retorted. “Come on, Birdie,” he said as he turned to leave the room.
“She stays,” Browan declared.
Strelzar turned back around and looked at Browan, then at Veria, then back at Browan. Then, without another word, but with a dramatic, mocking bow, he whipped around and left.
When he was gone, Browan shut the door and turned to her.
“What about rumors?” Veria asked as Browan as he strode toward her.
“You are a mess,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “Do you know that?” She nodded affirmatively. “Come, there is a large bath in the chamber off of my bed room.”
He spun her away from him, hands still on her shoulders, and guided her through his bed room, which looked like nothing had even occurred in it all those months ago, and through a door behind the bed into a luxurious wash room. The porcelain basin that sat in the center of the room was filled with steaming, clear water.
“How did—?” Veria asked.
“The maids were readying it during dinner,” he said. “I thought you might like one.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Anything for you,” he whispered, lowering his lips right to the flesh of her ear. Her body came alive instantly, her chest growing hot and her heart pounding. The aching lust that she had suppressed for the last month, knowing it was pointless while they were apart, returned as soon as his lips moved from her ear down the delicate skin of her neck. She wrapped her arm around his neck behind her and he let his hands wander across her breasts, then to the buttons of her vest, which he unfastened and removed, then the black shirt, to which he did the same. His hands trailed down her waist, over her hip bones, as they grabbed the waist of the tight black pants and slid them off, as well.
“Did you eat anything the last month?” he asked, running his hands along her bony pelvis again, which, she noticed as she looked down, had become more pronounced. She nodded. “Well, not enough, apparently.”
“Hard to carry enough food for a month,” she murmured. “A lot of jerky and biscuits.”
He spun her around to face him abruptly and squeezed her shoulders.
“I am so sorry,” he apologized. “I—I wish it could have been anyone other than you, but—”
“It's done, Browan,” Veria said. “And I don't want to talk about it.”
“I am so glad you're back,” he purred. “I thought about you every day you were gone, counting the hours until you returned.”
He pulled her in a kissed her deeply, yet gently.
“You should take your bath before it cools off,” he whispered, and she nodded. He helped her into the water, which initially felt like it was scalding her skin, but was a pleasant temperature once she grew accustomed to it. It was a stark contrast to the dry, freezing climate she had spent much of the last month in. Browan grabbed a large cloth and ran it tenderly across the back of her neck. She let her head drop forward and he reached out and grabbed the base of her braid, pulling out the tie that held it and slowly loosening each strand from its place, which was no easy task, as the hair had grown quite accustomed to where it had been for the last four weeks. He had to tug at a few strands, and comb his large fingers through others, to get them all free, and Veria didn't mind it at all. In fact, it just added to her agonizing desire for him.
He ran his hands along her face, then down the front of her neck and down the center of her torso, and her breath caught in her throat. Without considering her actions at all, she dove toward him, the water splashing at the sides of the bath, and grabbed his hair with her wet hands. She pulled their mouths together forcefully, desperately, and he uttered a moan of surprise and then a growl of acceptance. He clutched for her face and neck, and then settled a hand in her long, wavy hair, grabbing a fist of it gently and pulling her as deep into the kiss as he could.
But it wasn't enough for Veria. Only their mouths were in contact, and she needed all of him. She grabbed at his shirt collar and pulled at it urgently. He took the cue and pulled his pants off quickly as she ripped off his shirt, and he jumped into the bath with a frantic splash. As soon as he was in, they grabbed for each other wildly, pressing their bodies completely against one another. Veria wrapped her legs behind his back and he completely enveloped her in his strong, solid arms.
He took her into a passionate kiss that stole her breath as he completely joined their bodies. The water rippled and waked as they moved rhythmically in the bath, locked in a slow, syncopated sway and rock.
Veria wrapped her legs even tighter around his back, pulling him deeper inside of her, and he pulled his lips away, roaring in satisfaction. Her head dropped back and she cried out as she was overwhelmed by the feeling of him, and her body felt like it had caught on fire.
Still locked in each other's arms, they each tried to catch their breath.
“So,” Browan murmured into her hair through heavy pants, “back to the trials and barrack checks.”
Veria felt her chest ache just from the thought of having to wait days and days again before being with him. She pulled away and looked him in the eyes.
“I can't...” she started, and her throat went tight. “It's too hard.”
“I know,” he whispered. “You don't think this is all killing me? But wouldn't you rather have some of it than none?”
She shook her head. “I don't know. It just...it hurts, Browan. The wanting and waiting. When I'm around you, when I'm not with you.”
“I know,” he repeated, brushing wet hair from her forehead. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want more,” Veria said, not even realizing that was how she felt until the words came spilling out of her mouth.
“More,” Browan repeated slowly. “How much more?”
“All of it,” she answered. “I want everything. The whole thing, I want it all.”
Browan sighed and dropped his forehead into her shoulder.
“What?” she asked, her stomach tying itself in an anxious knot.
He shook his head before looking back up at her.
“You don't know how much I want that,” he said. “But I can't.”
“Why not?” she asked desperately, her throat hot and aching.
“Because you don't belong to me,” he said.
Veria's lips fell open and her stomach dropped.
“What did you just say?” she snapped, crawling out of his lap cautiously.
“You don't belong to me,” he repeated. “You belong to no one.”
Veria felt like she had been slapped in the chest as she gasped for
breath and scrambled out of the bath. She nearly slipped on the floor with her wet feet as she grabbed the nearest robe she could find in the wash room and ran toward the door.
“Veria!” Browan called after her, but she was out the door before he had reacted and gotten out of the tub.
She sprinted barefoot through the halls of the drafty castle, the chill of it made worse by the moisture that still clung to her skin. She ran full speed, panting through the exertion, until she was back at the barracks. She threw Strelzar's door open, as he always did to her, and stormed into his room, where he spun around from his chair near his fireplace at her entrance.
“Birdie,” he said, standing and taking in her appearance, as she strode toward him, dripping all over his floor with each step. “What—?”
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“What in the world are you talking about?” he cocked his head at her.
“What did you do to him?” she yelled.
“To who—Veria,” he said, reaching his arms out for her, “Calm down and let's talk.”
She slapped his hands away from her.
“Alright, I can do feisty,” he joked.
She slammed her hands into his chest and shoved him back as far as she could.
“Hey!” he protested.
“Are you jealous? Is that it?” she snapped. “You're jealous, aren't you?”
“I—”
“Well, go ahead,” she snapped, flinging the robe off and tossing it into his fire. “This is what you want isn't it? Go ahead!”
Strelzar looked at her in bewilderment, but didn't say anything.
“Take me!” she shrieked hysterically, shivering against the chill on her naked, damp skin. “Go on. I'm yours now, only yours, since you're not going to let anyone else have me!”
“Veria...” he started as he walked toward her. He grabbed a blanket from the back of his chair and tried to wrap it around her. She squirmed against his efforts and pushed him away again.
“Why did you do it, Strelzar?” she asked, rage filling her voice. “I heard your words from his mouth!” she shouted, pointing in the general direction of Browan's chambers. “You did that,” she snarled.
He nodded. “Yes,” he admitted.
“Why?!” she snapped. “Because you hate him?”
“No, I—”
“Because you hate me?” she yelled, prowling toward him.
“No! Veria, I love you,” he argued.
“Is that why?!” she barked, shoving him again.
He grabbed her shoulders firmly to try and calm her, and she writhed against him, her hands clutched into his chest, trying to push him off. He stumbled backward a step and tripped on his feet, and they both went plummeting down to the floor with a thud, locked in each other's grips.
Strelzar groaned in pain and Veria buried her head into his chest and sobbed, unable to hold it back anymore. “Why?” she wailed. “Why did you do it?”
“I don't trust him,” he answered gravely.
“And what does my relationship with him have to do with you?!” she yelled, pounding a fist into his chest.
“Something's going on here, and until I figure out what it is, I'm not going to let you get anymore tangled up with him than you already are,” he explained, his tone firm.
“You're not responsible for me,” Veria argued, tears running down her face and onto Strelzar's chest. He stroked her hair comfortingly and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know. But I can't let you. I don't trust him.”
“That's my problem to deal with,” Veria rebutted.
“Not entirely,” he said. “It involves me now, too. And if he marries you, that's your 'after the Guard', and I'm trapped, and disposable again.”
“Is that what this is about?” she asked, pulling herself up to look at his face. “You don’t want me to be with someone else so that you get to have me for research and whimsy and eternity?”
“That's not what I meant,” he replied, hoisting his head off the floor and propping himself on his elbows. “I am trying to protect us!”
“Us!” she shouted back at him. “Us! Always us! Always you and me! What if I want an us with someone else, Strelzar?”
“That's fine,” Strelzar said, plainly. “You can have it with anyone but him.”
“I don't understand!” she cried in frustration, sitting back on her feet. “He made me happy! He took care of me!”
“He sent you on a mission that would be suicide for anyone else in the world, to kill the only person who could have helped you figure out what happened to your father!” Strelzar snapped, sitting up completely.
The words felt like a slap to her face and her breath caught in her throat.
“What?” she asked, her voice hardly above a breathless whisper as she felt as if she couldn't breathe.
“The leader of that unit? Aslay told me who it was while you were still with Browan,” Strelzar explained sternly. “She hadn't talked to him in years, but they were close before he disappeared.”
“Don't say it, please...”
She knew who it was though, and it didn't matter if he said it our not. The only link in the investigation about her father's death. She just couldn't bear to hear it out loud. Not now.
“Cadit Ohren.”
Her body slumped forward in defeat, every muscle in her body exhausted, her head a blurry swarm of emotion and confusion. Strelzar reached out and pulled her into him to keep her from collapsing to the floor. She lost the will to even be angry, the betrayal she felt turning instantly to a cold, empty sadness instead of the rage it should have been.
“I planted those words in his mind some time back, but, I know now that I did the right thing,” Strelzar muttered.
Veria buried her head in his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso and cried softly, and he pulled the blanket off the floor next to him and wrapped it around her. He resumed the comforting pats on her damp head and shushed her.
“I thought this was it,” she cried, her face wet with tears.
“I know,” Strelzar whispered. “I'm sorry.”
“How could he do this to me?” she sobbed.
“I don't know, Birdie,” he replied. “But I intend to find out.”
Veria continued to cry uncontrollably, and Strelzar finally lifted her up, dressed her in his dry robe, and laid her in his bed. He laid down next to her and pulled her back into his chest, and he rubbed her back while she cried herself to sleep.
- XI-
Strelzar's bed faced the windows in his room, and the sun shone through them directly into Veria's face, waking her before she wanted to wake. She rolled over to bury her face in the pillow and noted that her legs were tight and sore, likely from her sprint through the castle the previous night.
“Get dressed,” Strelzar said from his small table and chairs by the fire. “There's breakfast,” he added, gesturing to a plate of eggs and fruit. “I've brought one of your uniforms down from your room. It's on the chair by the bed.”
She pulled her head up from the pillow resentfully, her eyes blurry and still tired.
“Why?” she groaned as she climbed out of the bed.
“Diplomatic meeting,” Strelzar stated plainly, not taking his eyes off the book he had in his hands.
“Ugh...” Veria griped. “So I have to see Browan and Andon?”
“Well, maybe you should stop sleeping with every man you meet,” Strelzar joked.
“That wouldn't have worked out for you very well,” she retorted, teasingly.
“I'm different,” he replied, his voice smooth and playful.
“Of course you are,” she said, with plenty of sarcasm, as she pulled off the robe she had slept in and dressed herself in the uniform on the chair.
After she had dressed, she sat at the small table and ate the breakfast that Strelzar had grabbed from the mess hall. It wasn't anything special, but she was starving and cleaned her plate quickly.
“When is this stupid meeting?” she asked, walking over to his full-length mirror and twisting her hair into a bun.
“Ten minutes,” he said, standing from his chair and stretching, placing his book in the seat he had just occupied. “We should probably get going.”
“What are you reading?” Veria asked.
“Your mother's journals,” he answered. “From when she was trying to document the memory losses, and develop some form of memory restoration.”
“I wish you better luck with it than I had,” Veria said. “I've read them twice, and didn't see a next step.”
“Neither do I, yet,” Strelzar said, scratching his short, coal-black chin whiskers. “And all it has managed to do so far is make me paranoid. I think we should be writing everything down. We know Andon can do it. And who knows how many others the King knows or employs? Other kingdoms certainly employ them, as well. How would we be able to tell if anything has been taken? We could be walking along one day and—poof!—Andon Villicrey makes us forget about the mission in Govaland.”
“You really are getting paranoid,” Veria said. “But I see your point. And I will start writing things down, if it makes you feel better.”
“It does,” he said. “So, here's your journal.” He handed her a red leather-bound book, blank on the inside.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said, “and I plan to take a nap as soon as this meeting is done, so let's get it over with, shall we?”
They left his room and walked down the quiet, chilly hallways to the dining room. The rest of the Elementals were not far behind them. They all entered the dining room together, where the King sat at the head of the table and the diplomats, Willis, Andon, a much older gentlemen called Sir Merrow, and another man similar to Willis' age that Veria had met when she was younger, Greggen Gilake, sat two on either side. Sir Merrow had, from what she had heard, been a knight during Browan's grandfather's reign, and promoted to diplomat when injured to a point that he could no longer ride. Greggen was not a Mager either, that she knew of, but had apparently studied foreign languages and cultures extensively since a very young age. His family had grown up as servants in the castle, and Browan's father had appointed him to diplomatic post when he was only fifteen.
The Twin Dragons: Book III in the Elementals Series Page 10