Lion of Zarall

by E B Rose

  That smug, arrogant smile… He had to erase it.

  When he pushed her to the bed, she didn’t scream. He climbed on her with the fierceness of a wild animal getting ready to devour its prey. He plunged himself into her, much rougher than he had in the previous nights. She bit down on her lower lip, barely holding back a groan.

  Lion’s lips pulled back in a satisfied snarl. He started ploughing her with the ferocity of a barely leashed animal.

  A Beast. Wild. Intense.

  He was surprised when the girl’s legs wrapped around his waist. He almost stopped, a paranoid part of him wondering if this was a wrestling move. An attack? He dismissed the idea.

  She started running her hands over his chest, his shoulders, and his arms. She moved her hips to match his thrusts. Lion let out a hungry growl.

  This was… nice?

  Her hands were soft and gentle. They left a trail of fire wherever they touched. She snaked them around him and rubbed his shoulder blades. Her fingers trailed up and down his spine.

  Without a warning, she grabbed two handfuls of his hair and yanked it hard.

  A surprised gasp slipped past Lion’s lips. He tossed his head back to ease the pull. He gripped her wrists, trying to pry her fingers off his hair while she pulled hard enough to almost rip his scalp off.

  A cold glimmer flared up in her eyes. You hurt me, I hurt you, her sneer said.

  Once again, Lion realized the girl was not that fragile, crying thing anymore. She was a fighter.

  But Lion was raised to win fights.

  He twisted one of her wrists, until she grimaced and let go. Just when he was freeing his hair from her other clutch, she grasped his beard this time. Pulling it to the side, she reached forward with her face and bit his neck. She was rewarded with another surprised growl from him.

  She bit and sucked at the same time, causing a different shade of pain. Trying to escape from her teeth, he sat up on his knees.

  Her legs still locked around his waist, she didn’t let go of him and she sat up with him, perching on his lap. Using her weight - which wasn’t ample but Lion was all sorts of surprised - she pushed him down on his back and she climbed on top, straddling him.

  Lion managed to push her face off his neck. He caught her arms and secured both her wrists with one hand. He snuck his free hand under his beard to find blood and saliva on his skin. It wasn’t much, and she’d deliberately targeted under his thick, bushy beard, where the mark would be hidden from prying eyes.

  Still…

  When she started moving, Lion tensed, expecting another assault. Her wrists were still safely restrained in Lion’s fist. She tossed her head back, her eyes closed, biting her lips. She moved up and down, riding him. Lion took in the view of her bare breasts, jiggling alive with her movements. Her red hair fell down her shoulders, partially concealing her pink nipples. Lion groaned desperately.

  Who was this girl? Just last night, she was gazing at the ceiling with a deadpan expression, as he had his way with her. What had fuelled her now? What was she trying to accomplish?

  He didn’t trust her. Yet, he couldn’t resist frisking her hair back to the side and palming one of her smooth breasts. He let go of her wrists and ran both his hands up and down her flat stomach, hips, and perky breasts.

  She held back a moan when he squeezed roughly. He was wary of what she would attempt to do next with her hands, but she kept them at her sides, harmlessly. Lowering his guard would have been a mistake. Yet, it was hard not to enjoy this.

  She bent down and kissed his abdomen. Her lips started moving up his chest. Every time her tongue darted out and made contact with his skin, a jolt of pleasure spread across Lion’s body.

  She steered clear of his newest brand, but her lips brushed softly against the three older burn marks, landing gentle kisses on each. When her lips moved up to his collarbone, Lion’s eyes rolled back in his skull.

  Her fresh breath tickled his face.

  He opened his eyes to find himself looking into hers.

  The eye contact felt like a cheap punch to his guts. He tensed; his muscles convulsed, anticipating the pain to explode all over his mind and body. It was only a shadow of the pain; it wasn’t real. Just the thought of it. Petrifying. Tormenting. He hated it. He hated her.

  He tried to avert his eyes desperately, but she’d grasped his beard with both hands. Her face hovered over his; their noses almost touching. She moved her head with his, chasing his gaze. A grin spread across her lips. The sheer cruelty of it would have made a slave breeder jealous.

  Lion attempted to push her off, but she was clinging to his beard with both hands so tightly, he couldn’t have moved her an inch, unless he was willing to part with his beard.

  He found the escape in closing his eyes tightly shut.

  Her breath teased his lips. She hadn’t stopped moving her hips and she was panting heavily. Lion was trapped. Cornered by her tormenting gaze. He couldn’t dare open his eyes. This felt like defeat.

  He was bred to win.

  He trailed his palms up her thighs, squeezing firmly and releasing. He grabbed her ass with both hands. She responded by running her tongue over the scratch mark she’d left near his eye three nights ago. It elicited a hiss out of him.

  He pulled his right hand back, all the way, and spanked her with full force.

  The sound of his palm against her skin rang loud in the room. Already, a red mark in the shape of his hand was searing on her flesh, all five fingers clearly visible. She yelped, jerked back. Distracted.

  Lion didn’t miss the opportunity to counter attack. He wrapped his arms around her, put a hand behind her head, and pressed it down, burying her face in his beard.

  With her face safely out of his sight, he opened his eyes again. She tried to pull back, but he was holding her tight. Secure. Her attempts at biting him have failed, when his beard filled her mouth and nose, making her gag.

  She flailed her puny arms uselessly. An unexpected - but quiet - laughter filled the room. It was Lion’s.

  He rolled over her, pinning her under his weight, while still keeping her face buried in his beard. His thrusts picked up speed, but she met his pace. She went back to wrapping her arms and legs around him. Her body tensed and started shaking. She buried a moan against his beard and neck. Her walls tightened around his cock. Pleasure took his breath, stole a grunt out of him. And he released into her.

  They lied still, shaking and breathing heavily. Their arms were still wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed firmly. The sound of her rapid heartbeat was mixed with his. Neither of them dared to move a muscle, to break the contact of their skin.

  What had just happened? This was different from any of Lion’s previous experiences.

  This was more beautiful than he could ever describe.

  An ominous fear was filling his chest. A new feeling was waking up inside of him; a different kind of hunger. A feeling that was forbidden to all purebreds; scraped off of their hearts with years of harsh training.

  Desire.

  11

  LION

  “Call me Saradra.”

  Lion crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall. The girl was perched on the side of the bed. She’d managed to tie the torn pieces of her dress together and looked decent in it.

  More than decent.

  Her beauty made the tattered dress look more elegant than any one of Queen Arasanara’s jewel-clad, multi-coloured dresses. She tilted her head to the side, her lips pouting. Her red hair flowed down one side of her face. Every quick glance Lion sent her way hitched his breath.

  Lion licked his lips. His eyes darted to the door, before he growled a quiet, “No.”

  She sat up straighter, glared at him. “My name is Saradra,” she said stubbornly. “I want you to call me by my name.”

  Lion eyed the bed, chewing inside his cheek. He could feel the pull to go and sit down with her. The images of the last night made his body feel hot. Desire was blooming in
side of him, like a poisonous flower, and if he didn’t rip that plant off its roots, he was doomed.

  Desire was bad.

  Desire led to wanting.

  Wanting lead to taking.

  And taking was a gateway to all Acts of Defiance.

  Lion wanted the girl. Saradra.

  He wanted to have what they had last night.

  “No,” he shook his head. Fear was a clawed beast, tearing his stomach apart.

  She scoffed. Her lips formed a thin line. Despite the power display she’d put the night before, she chose not to threaten him. “Tell me something about yourself,” she changed the subject.

  Lion shook his head again. He hated being forced into a conversation. He never had to do this before. He didn’t know how.

  “That was our deal,” she said with a hint of steel in her voice. “You’ll look at me, and you’ll tell me something about yourself every night. In return, I’ll keep your secret.”

  Lion shifted his weight. He was still leaning against the wall, despite eyeing the bed at her side. “I’m a purebred beast,” he hissed.

  “Something nobody else knows about you. Not even your Owner or Masters.”

  Lion growled quietly. What did she want to hear?

  “My Masters know everything about me,” he muttered under his breath. It was true. In fact, they probably knew more than he did about himself.

  The girl whose name was not Saradra brought a lock of her hair to her mouth, and started chewing. Her scowl was more contemplative than annoyed. “What’s your favourite food?” she prompted.

  Lion tossed his head back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. What kind of question was that? “I ate corn bread, roasted chicken, and vegetables this morning.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  When Lion scratched his head, racking his brain for an answer, she stood up and walked over to him.

  Lion tensed at their proximity. She smelled like soap. He found himself glancing at her full lips, remembering how they felt against his skin.

  “I’ll help you,” she said. “What is the most delicious food you have ever tasted that you’d enjoy eating every day for the rest of your life?”

  Lion watched as her lips formed the words. He mulled over the question.

  “Seafruit cake?” he said slowly, putting a question on his tone as if unsure.

  “Seafruit cake?” Her eyebrows arched up; corner of her lips curled.

  Lion shrugged. Was that the wrong answer?

  “Okay,” she nodded. A triumphant smile spread across her lips. “Good. Your favourite food is seafruit cake. And your Masters don’t know this about you.”

  Lion closed his eyes. An odd guilt, mixed with fear of punishment settled in his chest. He couldn’t tell why, but somehow, he knew he’d be punished if he’d gone and told Badimar that Seafruit cake was his favourite food.

  He shouldn’t have had any preferred food. It was a stupid notion for a slave. He’d eat whatever he was given.

  The cake was nice though. The fruit was common enough, and just the right mixture of sour and sweet. He didn’t mind the taste.

  He stopped himself before he wished he could have some tomorrow. Desire. He was heading into that forbidden territory called ‘desire’ again. What was she doing to him?

  She was trouble.

  The girl placed her palm over his cheek. The touch sent heat across his body. “Look at me,” she whispered. She tilted his chin up to face her.

  After bracing himself for the pain, Lion opened his eyes. A warm spark greeted him when she smiled. For two heartbeats. For the length of two heartbeats, he was mesmerized by all the different shades of blue dancing together in her irises. He memorized their patterns like he did the map in the throne room.

  Then, the shivers hit him.

  He doubled over with a low grunt, holding his stomach, fighting off the nausea and the learned pain.

  Rather than jumping out of the potential splash-zone, she stood by him and held his hair back while he dry-heaved.

  “I don’t know what they did to you and how, but I’ll undo it,” she muttered.

  “Why?” Lion growled, still shaking. He hated her for this, while forcing his mind to etch the colour of her eyes into his memory.

  Instead of giving him an answer, she helped him stand up. She snuck one hand under his hair, rested it at the nape of his neck. She placed the other hand on his bearded cheek. Their chests were pressed against each other. Lion could feel her rapid heartbeats. Her full lips parted.

  She arched her neck and pressed her mouth against his.

  Seconds passed. Her soft lips left small, lingering kisses over his mouth. Lion’s hands caressed her waist, tugging her closer.

  Struck by lightning, were the words that crossed his mind. Just like in that tale he’d listened to. This must have been the sensation the storyteller was describing by that phrase.

  He let out a quiet groan when she nipped at his lower lip and sucked it gently. He moved his hand to her neck and angled her head to deepen the kiss. Her hands caressed his chest and shoulders. She pulled her head back, breaking the kiss, though Lion kept her trapped between his arms.

  “Call me Saradra,” she whispered against his lips.

  Lion growled without taking his eyes off her mouth. Her lips looked red and swollen. “No,” he grunted.

  The girl’s blue eyes narrowed at him angrily. When Lion attempted to take her mouth again, she turned her face away, dodging his lips. “Say it,” she repeated.

  “No,” he said gruffly. His lips landed on her neck, kissing and licking, making his way towards her chin. He refused to call her by the name she didn’t possess anymore.

  Defiance tasted sweet.

  Her hands ran down his chest, his stomach, and cupped his over his pants. He moaned against her ear. His hands fumbled on the make-shift knot that held her dress together. The stupid knot didn’t come loose. She squeezed him teasingly, then let go. Lion mourned the loss of her touch.

  She ducked and stepped out of his arms. Lion resisted the urge to pounce at her; to rip her dress apart - again - and devour her like he did last night. She grinned, as if reading his thoughts. Her delicate fingers loosened the knot without effort. She let the dress fall at her ankles.

  “Do you want me?” she whispered.

  Want?

  Lion’s eyes raked her naked figure hungrily; her perky breasts, erect nipples, curvy hips, and the softest, sweetest spot between her legs.

  Desire had broken its chains and was loose inside of him. He wanted what he saw. He wanted more of that kiss. He wanted her.

  She didn’t take his expression as an answer and asked again, tilting her head to the side teasingly. “Do you want me?”

  Fear and desire collided inside of him. Desire won. It was wrong. It was against his training. It was the first step leading to all the Acts of Defiance. He was doomed.

  He nodded.

  “Then come and get it.”

  In a blink, Lion was out of his clothes, scooping the girl up to the bed. She stifled a giggle. Without delay, he went straight for those lips. He ravaged her mouth with a building sense of urgency. When he thrusted inside her roughly, she bit his bottom lip in response, drawing blood. Her hips caught up to his pace. She turned her head away to catch her breath.

  “Say my name,” she whispered. “Please.” Her voice quivered with an odd need; as if her whole life depended on hearing the name she’d lost, one more time. “Just…”

  Lion cut her off with a kiss, and tasted tears. He kissed all over her face, wiping her tears with his lips, before returning to hers. When he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, she let out a weak moan.

  His hands trailed up her belly, cupped and pinched her breasts. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, holding on to him tightly.

  His blood was on fire. He was overwhelmed with the need to have her. To possess her. To own her and to be owned by her.

  He held her tight when her body
started rocking and convulsing with overflowing pleasure. He had to cover her mouth with his hand, to muffle her voice.

  The girl’s hands pressed down on Lion’s hips, wanting him deeper. With one more solid thrust, he was in completely, and he joined her peak with a hoarse grunt.

  Without knowing why, he brought his lips to her ear and whispered: “Saradra.”

  *

  The Feline Yard remained in the shade of the Western walls in the afternoon. That was fortunate, considering how hot it could get for the King’s beasts when training hard under the summer sun.

  Lion was standing on what Badimar called a Balance Pole. It was six-foot-high from the ground and the top of it was just wide enough to stand on one foot.

  Lion’s upper body was bare, except for a pair of brass arm guards. Joharin was walking around the pole with a basket full of hand-sized rocks as he threw them at him, trying to catch him off-guard. Lion either dodged or parried them with his arm guards, keeping his balance at the same time.

  This was one of the easier exercises. He switched his feet and continued to trace Joharin’s body language with quick glances.

  The older trainer was careful not to face him, so as not to give himself away. He grabbed a rock, tossed it in the air and caught it, turned and twisted it, seeming to examine it carefully, then hurled it at Lion in lightning speed. Lion greeted it with his right arm guard and shifted his weight to keep his balance.

  Piece of cake.

  He wished the girl’s - Saradra’s - tasks were this easy too. Finding something new to tell her about himself was more difficult than he ever imagined. It’d been three nights since she’d started torturing him with this game. Lion had already told her about his favourite form of exercise, his favourite weapon, and how he felt about each trainer.

  Every time he told her something his Masters didn’t know about him, the cold fingers of anxiety strangled him, as if he could get into trouble for this. He shouldn’t have had opinions. Favourites. He shouldn’t have felt anything.