Daryk Hunter

by Denise A. Agnew

  “If there are, I haven’t seen any. Besides, we’re in the Tarrian region. I don’t have to go anywhere to wench with ripe women.”

  Minilos sat down on the bench across from Dane, his too-full tankard sloshing drink onto the large man’s hand. “Too true. It’s boring around here lately. So calm.” The man eyeballed Ketera. “Then again, I see you already have a wench. My apologies, good friend.”

  Ketera’s lips went tight, her eyes hard. “I am not a wench.”

  Dane smiled. “This is Ketera Aldrancos. Ketera, Minilos.”

  “Charmed.” Minilos held out his meaty hand. He captured Ketera’s small fingers and brought them to his lips for a smacking kiss. “Charmed indeed.”

  She jerked her hand back but didn’t reply to Minilos’ overwrought statement. “He can help us?”

  Minilos grinned. “I can help you with anything you need. I stake my golden reputation on it.”

  Her ire chilled but her eyes held suspicion. She glanced around. “We can’t talk about this here. What if someone hears us?”

  Dane grunted. “Not likely. We’ll keep our voices low. The very fact we’re in a tavern like this takes away any suspicion.”

  “Why do we need him?” Ketera asked.

  Dane’s smile became brittle. “Because he is an old friend with expertise.” He turned his attention back to the robust man. “Besides. He probably hasn’t had enough murder and mayhem to suit an old Daryk One, eh?”

  Dane realized in an instant he shouldn’t have mentioned Minilos’ age. He was too damn sensitive about it.

  The older man grimaced. “Just because I don’t patrol with you feckless young ones anymore doesn’t mean I can’t pound sense into a cretin.”

  Shaking his head, Dane said, “I can see you have your hands full here. Leave the battles outside of Grimnald Castle to me.”

  Minilos nodded, apparently placated. “So tell me, what goes on outside the castle walls these days? I burn for news.”

  “The other castles are still making up their minds which side they’re on. Armen’s side or Drakus’ side.”

  “How many castles are on this continent,” Ketera asked.

  Dane counted them off on one hand. “Grimnald, Austos, which is in the Ithaycan desert, Leadios, which is in the glacier lands of Imekland, and Bardannia, which is also in Imekland. I think most of the castles will maintain their honor and see that stealing women from another country is not the way to do this.”

  Minilos snorted. “Perhaps we can convince Armen we need to send an emissary to Magonia to talk sense into them. That we need to mix our lands and people to survive. But I doubt it will work. Magonians have no sense.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ketera asked with undeniable rancor.

  Dane smiled. “Ketera is from Magonia.”

  Minilos looked bashful for a second then his gaze took in Ketera with a whole new light. “Really? My apologies, my dear.”

  Dane threw her a teasing glance. “She’s very sensitive, Minilos. Watch your tongue.”

  Minilos winked. “Have you been watching yours?”

  Dane laughed softly as Ketera’s cheeks went red.

  Minilos sipped delicately from his own tankard in direct contrast to his usual copious consumption. “Forgive my rough ways, little lady. I’ve had a lot of work to do lately with this tavern. Fights almost every night. Drunken bastards wrecking my property. It’s hell, I tell you. Hell.”

  Dane grinned. “Which one?”

  The hairy man groaned. “All of them. Perhaps the deepest level. Seventeen, I think.”

  “Right. And when are you going to find a real job?”

  Minilos possessed a good sense of humor, thank Draconus. He glared at Dane with mock seriousness. “Running this tavern is the best occupation I’ve ever had. Keeps me out of trouble.”

  “Uh-huh. If you call drunken brawls every night peace and quiet.”

  Minilos quirked one eyebrow. “And that’s only the Daryk Ones who come in here every night to find drink and a woman. I swear I don’t remember feeling the need to fight as you young ones do. Is it something new?”

  Dane rolled his gaze to the ceiling in mock disgust then looked at Ketera. “New he says. That is a lie and you know it. There is nothing new in Dragonia.”

  Minilos looked morose as he stared into his tankard. “Are the rumors true, Dane?” He lowered his voice to a whisper that Dane could barely discern. “Are rogue Daryk Ones threatening this castle?”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  Minilos lowered his voice even more. “Tell me. Is it true?”

  “Rumors say Drakus is planning to move in on our position here and destroy us.” He shrugged. “I’m not concerned. He will raid and we will repel. Nothing penetrates our walls, remember? Not even a siege engine, and I doubt he has one of those.” When he saw the doubt in his old friend’s eyes, he continued with, “He owns a ragtag army of miscreants who never should have been allowed into the Daryk Ones in the first place. If he tries to attack the castle, Armen will be forced to see that he must fight Drakus head-on and take him down.”

  Minilos peered at him. Drink hadn’t clouded the serious expression in his eyes. “It pains you to think of any Daryk Ones willing to harm another Daryk One and hurt women?”

  “How can you ask that? Of course it does.”

  Minilos sighed. “It does cut deep. But it was to be expected. With our diversity of beliefs and peoples, the extremes will always try to win out. You understand as well as I do. I’m surprised we’ve gone this long without worse happening.”

  As much as Dane wanted to pretend that their continent didn’t verge on fragmenting into more warring factions, he couldn’t. Dane closed his eyes and wished the topic would dissolve, but he couldn’t bury it. “Peace would be wonderful.”

  His friend tilted his head to the side. “Peace you say? Are you insane? Peace has never been and never will be. It’s in Dragonian blood to fight.”

  Dane sighed. “I’ve been a warrior most of my life. My blood is tired.”

  “Really? I hear your blood is actually up. The way you attacked that dragon will be a legend for much time to come, no doubt.”

  Dane grunted.

  Minilos laughed and then swallowed a mighty gulp of drink. He grimaced as the liquid went down his throat. He wiped his mouth with his tunic arm. “Are you saying you want to quit being a Daryk One? The heat is too high for you?”

  Minilos sounded scandalized, but Dane saw the humor lurking in his eyes. “Never.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “What other occupation would give me a chance to kill dragons?”

  Minilos slapped the table. “Exactly. Now, before this drink overwhelms me, tell me what sort of wretched plan you’ve involved this beautiful young lady in. And by the by, you really should keep your kissing to yourself. Everyone in the castle saw you snogging her after the dragon fight. They assume you’ve shagged her.”

  Dane wanted to pop his friend in the jaw. “By the god, I could rip your loose tongue out by the roots.”

  Minilos laughed and clapped Dane on the back. “Perhaps you should go home and screw her blind. That’ll cure what ails you both.”

  Ketera stood up, her face pink. “Excuse me. Is there a facility for ladies? I’ll return in a moment.”

  Minilos pointed it out, and she strode away. Dane kept an eye on her as she wended her way through the crowd of boisterous tavern goers. She made it to the back room safely.

  Ketera left the bathing room with one hand over her stomach. She didn’t really feel that steady. Maybe the meat pies she’d eaten earlier hadn’t agreed with her. The tavern was stuffy and she needed a bit of fresh air. Anything to get away from the noisy, smoky, crowded interior for one moment.

  An open door down the hall to the left allowed a cooler breeze to waft inside the building. Night sounds echoed from the jungle. Just a moment or two to compose herself and she’d go back inside and face Dane and Minilos.

  She stepped outside and drank in
the clean air. A bench beckoned outside the doorway and she sat down. This was better.

  For one moment, as she’d left Dane and Minilos, she’d considered running. She’d find her own way. She wasn’t stupid and her guts would go far. She knew her way around people, despite every effort her society made to keep her in place. As much as she would miss bantering and fighting with Dane, she wanted to find a quicker way off this Magon-forsaken continent and back to her own country.

  Oh Dane. Yes, she would miss the passion he’d inspired in her. But surely if she returned to Magonia she could forget his touch. His kisses. And the maddening and forbidden pleasure he’d created within her.

  Still, she knew she couldn’t do it.

  Dane was right about one thing at least. This was a dangerous country and she was unfamiliar with it. She needed his help.

  She sighed and gazed through the semidarkness.

  The small township stood but a few hundred yards outside Grimnald Castle in a clearing surrounded by jungle. Night had fallen, but two huge Croan red moons dwarfed the treetops at the horizon. Torches lit the area, probably as much to discourage animals as to prevent any other crime. Crime. The very word intimidated.

  Her mind spun with what she’d witnessed in the tavern. Men and women copulating, women’s breasts hanging out for all to see, vice of every imaginable kind save robbery, murder and—well, she supposed those might go on there as well. Yet Minilos had seemed like a nice enough man at the core, even if his crass demeanor spoke of broken former glory. And Dane. Well, Dane had stolen her breath when he’d suggested she might want to try public sex with him. Oh lord Magon. Her face heated even in the coolness.

  From the darkness, the sounds of a call to prayer warbled in the night. She’d read in the texts her father had found that Dragonian townships had a center of worship, a chapel to the god Draconus. Every eight hours a call to prayer would wail above the township and remind those most faithful to stop and reflect on the goodness of Draconus. She’d yet to see what this god was supposed to look like. Perhaps they didn’t allow the deity to have a form, just as Magonians refused to depict their god.

  Curious to get a slightly better angle so she could see the huge moons better, she stepped around the corner of the building.

  A dark figure sprang at her. An arm grabbed her about the waist, slinging her into an alleyway. With crushing force, the man jammed her against a wall. Her breath caught, seized by the pressure of the man’s body against hers and pain spearing through her ribs. At first she thought the hard grip might be Dane, but the man’s nasty breath instantly proved it wasn’t, and the brutal grip on her arms hurt. Fear sliced like a knife through her.

  Instinct brought her knee up into the man’s groin. The man yowled and ducked into a ball of pain. She poured on the strength and tore away from her attacker. With a growl the man reached for her, caught the sleeve of her tunic. It ripped but held, and his other arm corralled her waist. He slapped her across the face, and a cry escaped her as her ears rang and pain sliced her cheek as if a beener bug had stabbed her. Crude words spilled from his lips that she didn’t understand.

  “Bitch! Don’t defy me!” His raspy voice growled in her ear.

  She tried to knee him again, her hands coming up to gouge his eyes. He jerked his head back. A second later her head thunked against the wall behind her and a flash of white penetrated her skull like a needle. Pain staggered her. By the god, he had to have split her skull. Regret came too late. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left Dane. Weakness made pudding of her limbs, and as her knees buckled, the man tossed her over his shoulder. She tried pounding on his back but couldn’t muster strength to do more than gurgle in outrage.

  “Let me go,” she managed to cry out. “You milksop!”

  He slapped her ass, a guttural laugh echoing in the knight. “Be still, bitch. Your eagerness is encouraging, but we have all night.”

  She wriggled, but the pain in her head sent her into a twilight where only voices penetrated her mind.

  “What you go there, Bantu?” A man’s raspy voice echoed nearby. “Can I get me some?”

  “Back off, Tweed. She’s not your kind. Got me a rare find.”

  As the man called Bantu ran with her into the night, Tweed ran alongside. “Truly? Can I have a bit of her?”

  “She’s going to be my bitch. At least until I get tired of her.” He laughed, and the rough sound swam through her head as she bounced along on his shoulder.

  She wanted to scream for help, cry out for Dane. But her throat wouldn’t work. Breed for the disgusting man? She would die first.

  Her last thought before darkness ate her up was, Magon save me. What have I done?

  * * * * *

  Minilos grinned widely. “She is a fiery one, no? They say she looked as timid and cool as a virgin when you kissed her. But the way she faced the dragon, she must be hot and tasty.” Minilos rubbed his hands together.

  Searing jealousy screamed through Dane’s mind, and he growled, “Don’t ever speak of her in that way again.” Heated anger spilled through Dane. He pointed at Minilos. “She’s mine.”

  Minilos’ stunned expression turned to understanding. “Ah, I get it now. Sorry, my friend. She’s to be your mate for real, isn’t she?”

  Trembling inside with a bizarre rage, Dane slammed back the rest of his drink and didn’t answer the question.

  “Be careful, Dane. You’ll scare the poor girl with that look. You can’t have her for your mate if she refuses you sexually.”

  Once more Dane gave his friend a hostile look. “Thank you. I know that.”

  If it had been any other woman they talked about, Dane easily could have spilled to his friend the details of the seduction. He wouldn’t have felt embarrassed to tell Minilos how Ketera had screamed in orgasm when he’d tasted her sweet pussy with his tongue or used his fingers to fuck her tight channel.

  Telling his old friend how beautiful she’d been while ecstasy rushed through her body—

  No.

  It did not feel right.

  “If you don’t mate with her within a few days, she’ll refuse you forever.”

  “I know that,” Dane gritted out between his teeth.

  “But you can’t frighten her into doing it—”

  “I know, damn it.” He leaned over until he was in Minilos’ face. “You think I’d even dream of hurting her in any way?” Dane jammed one hand through his hair. “Maybe she isn’t really my mate. Perhaps it’s just been too long since I had a woman.”

  Minilos’ eyes appeared calm and his gaze solid with understanding. “A Daryk One isn’t like everyone else in Dragonia. You’ve trained all your life to recognize evil, brigands and other outlaws. To sense when you’re needed. You can scent your mate, but more than that, you can feel her in your soul.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the advice. When was the last time you even lay with a woman?” Dane asked.

  Over the din of the hornpipe, Minilos’ eyes shined with memory. “Not since old Tessala left me. You know, I don’t understand this mate thing.”

  “Join the crowd.”

  “Then why did you say she is yours? No man says that unless—”

  “Shut up and let us talk business.”

  No, Minilos wouldn’t understand. There were a few Daryk Ones, like Minilos, who never found a woman they connected with on a level this profound. They had sex, they may even have sincere affection with a woman, but nothing as life-altering and gut-wrenching as the burn that seemed to eat away at Dane’s control. Maybe he did need to find a woman to slake his lust before he seduced pretty Ketera. Before he understood what to do with her. Suddenly, the thought of taking another woman…any woman other than Ketera felt repugnant. Almost nauseating.

  Ah, hells.

  Dane shoved away his troubled feelings and concentrated on the task at hand. Dane asked Minilos to stay mum, demanding the man speak of Ketera’s need to return to Magonia to no one. When Minilos asked why she would want to go into that forsak
en desert land, Dane explained that her father had become a prisoner based on opposing beliefs. Minilos took his word and said he’d make the arrangements for them to sail in two days.

  Dane’s eyes narrowed as he searched the crowd for Ketera, a crawling suspicion inside him. “Where is Ketera? It shouldn’t have taken her that long.”

  He left the table without another word to Minilos, his heartbeat pounding, anger and worry mixed together. If the little wench dared leave without him—

  She couldn’t have. A woman, once mated, would always feel a staggering pull toward her man. If she was young and hadn’t been bedded by her mate, the pull should be so harsh she couldn’t leave the building without him.

  Unless, because she was Magonian, the pull wasn’t harsh. Wasn’t there at all.

  What if he was the one ensnared?

  He stormed toward the back area, pushing past a few patrons before he crashed through the opening to the ladies’ facility. “Ketera!”

  No sign of her. Damn the little wench to the high seas and the hells.

  Full-blown fury was matched only by the skewering loathing he had for himself for not realizing Ketera planned to run yet again. Draconus, he’d been a lust-filled fool. Somewhere inside another horrible feeling gathered. He longed for her still, he ached for her with a soul-binding desire that sealed his fate.

  “Dane?” A commanding male voice alerted Dane someone was behind him. Again he whirled, dirk at hand.

  Anger and caution flooded him as he recognized fellow Daryk One Rayder Tyrus. Rayder strode toward him. He hadn’t seen nor spoken to Rayder in the year the man had turned rogue. The same height as Dane, Rayder was lean but still powerful. His dark hair fell around his shoulders, always looking messy. A few days of beard lent a piratical appearance to his face. Dane’s defenses came up. Rayder had once been his friend. Now he was in league with Drakus and a slave trader himself. What the hells was he doing here? Dane kept his hand on his dagger, muscles tensed.