by Kim Knox
A muscle jumped in Marek’s lean jaw and his gaze, which had never left her, narrowed. Her stomach turned over at the flare of bitter anger burning in him. “Show me.”
“Marek, you doubt—”
“Show me.”
The words were a low growl that lifted the hairs on the back of Ash’s neck and tingled down her spine. Her birthmark burned and the unexpected reaction forced her to bite at her cheek to keep back her gasp.
Nelek clicked his fingers at one of the slaves. The man gave the priest a quick nod and ran back through the smaller door into the priests’ compound. Within moments, he returned with a scroll, around which curved the blood red and gold of the emperor’s seal. Marek took it, broke the seal and scanned the contents. He frowned.
He smacked the scroll back into the slave’s open palm and moved past Nelek. Ash’s heart hammered as he approached her. He stopped close enough for her to breathe in his scent, a mix of leather, unknown spices and male skin. He leaned in. She willed her spine straight, though her fingers crushed the woven strap of her satchel as his mouth hovered over hers.
“Marek!”
Ash ignored Nelek’s shrill voice. Marek’s dark eyes speared her, and she almost lost herself in their endlessness. Her lips parted and she tasted his breath, sweet, hot, and the temptation of his mouth flared her body with desire. The need to tease her tongue over his full bottom lip, to see if he could possibly taste as good as he did in her wildly spinning imagination, drove heat hard through her flesh, tightened her breasts. She ached to press herself against the lean hardness of his body, for him to—
“And this is the best ward you have?” His words spoken against her skin, his lips catching hers in a light caress, broke a gasp from her. “I could bend her over and fuck her right here.”
Ash’s cheeks flamed and she staggered back from him, her spine hitting the cool stone of the atrium wall.
Marek lifted an eyebrow and his eyes gleamed, his gaze roaming over her body as hot and sharp as any of the slaves who had watched her. “Yank up your robe.”
Two strides and he was almost pressed against her. His male scent, the strength of his body, pulsed through her, bringing with it a raw panic and a mortifying need. They’d said he wouldn’t want this, that the custodian would protect her. His lips teased the shell of her ear and liquid fire flickered low in her belly.
“Want me to breach you, ward?”
Ash cried out as he cupped her, his fingers pressing against the hot, aching flesh between her thighs. “All right, let’s give the eunuch a show.”
“Marek!”
Nelek tugged at his arm, but Ash knew it was as if the first priest tugged at iron. Marek shoved the priest away. His finger curled and the sudden sharp flare of almost overwhelming pleasure arched her into him. “Are you a ward?”
He growled the words against her lips and the ache for him to kiss her, the surge of unknown heat tearing up through her flesh made her heart pound. She didn’t want to talk, she wanted to taste him, thread her fingers through his thick hair and crush his mouth to hers.
“Are you?” His finger pressed a slow circle into her flesh and she had to grab at his shoulders, her breath little more than pants. “Show me. Show us all.”
She found his mouth, her teeth grazing his bottom lip, teasing him, tasting him. A tremor ran through her body. He tasted… Her thoughts called out to her goddess. He tasted incredible. Sweet and spiced and the strange prickle of his bristled chin sparked fire in her veins. The pulse low in her belly deepened, expanded, the heat surging…but it wasn’t pleasure. She cried out and a violent wave smashed into Marek, throwing him away from her. He staggered back but a dark grin cut his mouth.
“All right, she’s a ward.” He straightened his long cloak and his attention fixed on the box Nelek held. “But this is still not what we agreed.”
Ash stared at Marek, her body weak, boneless. What had just happened? He’d had his hand… She stared down her shift and blushed at the wet stain and creases marring the white material. Ash pressed her trembling fingers to her lips and tasted him, the first man she had ever kissed. “What did you do?”
Marek ignored her and took the box. The wood almost glowed now, a patina that she was certain hadn’t been there as Nelek held it. “Get her a cloak.”
The first priest nodded to a slave, who darted back into the priest compound. Ash watched him run before she pushed herself away from the wall. Her legs trembled, feeling more like water than flesh. The slave reappeared, breathing hard and with a white cloak draped across his strong arms. He presented it to her with a low bow.
Ash blinked, still disoriented. A wild fire had burned in her flesh and brought with it a strange sense of power. But then something had changed, distorted it and flung that fire at Marek. That made no sense. Was impossible—
“Put the cloak on.”
Marek drawled the words, as if talking to a child, and her pride kicked in. Ash gave the slave a short smile and slid the cloak around her shoulders, quick fingers fastening the large buttons to the front and at her shoulder. Still Marek frowned at her.
“White,” he muttered. He pointed to the slave beside her. “Put her hood up.”
“I can—” But the man was too eager to obey the custodian and arranged the heavy hood over her hair. “What difference does it make?”
Mark snorted. “None, obviously.” He let out a tight breath, reached for the clasps on his own cloak and shrugged it off his shoulders into the waiting hands of the second slave. “She has to wear this.”
The first slave made quick work of removing her white cloak. Within moments, she was covered in heavy, dark wool and her heart beat hard. His scent, the warmth of his body shrouded her, the sense of him being wrapped around her and her inability to escape him burned the blood under her cheeks. And the man watched her. She couldn’t help the slide of her gaze down his body. His lean torso, emphasized by the long, dark leather tunic with its heavy chest buckles, flared more heated thoughts. Ash didn’t understand her instant reaction, her instant need for this stranger. She had to fight it. “I demand—”
“Silence.”
The order was a low growl that skittered down her spine and ignited the twists of her birthmark. Ash clamped her jaw together, an involuntary action, and she stared at him as he turned to Nelek. Anger burned under her skin. How had he done that? Stopped her mid-sentence?
He dug into the breast pocket of his long tunic and retrieved a coin. It caught the light and the harsh glare of brass stung her eyes. Marek pressed the coin into Nelek’s palm. Payment. For her. “You’re new to your role. If we are to do further business, in the future I must be forewarned.”
Nelek’s fingers closed over the brass disc. “We act only as the goddess directs.”
“Of course you do.” Marek snapped his fingers at Ash and she stumbled forward. He gripped her hand and the contact surged through her. Hot, callused fingers dug into her palm, breaking the spell he had wrapped around her.
Spell. Her heart jumped and her breath caught in her throat. He practiced magic?
“Ready?”
Ash found herself under hard scrutiny. She fought to focus. Everything about the man had her thrown off balance. She’d heard whisper of magic-users from the slaves, the wet nurses, but never thought… Had that been him? Had he magicked up the riot of whatever-it-was tearing from her flesh? Well, damn him. He wouldn’t get that chance to play with her again. A little voice at the back of her mind laughed at her. Yes, she was ignoring the tightness of her breasts, the hard pinch of her nipples, the throb low in her flesh that came with simply wearing his cloak.
Ash gritted her teeth and lifted her chin. He would not control her. “I do as the goddess directs.”
Marek raised an eyebrow and his beauty, the remembered taste of his skin on her tongue, ran hot through her thoughts. “You’re a dangerous ward,” he murmured. “Too free with your power.”
“I’m ready to leave.”
“
And they chose not to share that knowledge with you.” He glanced back to Nelek and a frown further wrinkled the first priest’s face. “Let us hope this is a wise decision.”
Mark turned and drew Ash after him, as if she were some animal on an unseen rope, her borrowed cloak dragging over the stone floor. She bunched it in her hand and walked at his side. She wasn’t some recalcitrant child to be dragged behind him. Ash let that prideful anger sit in her thoughts. It pushed down the fear of what her life now was with this man.
She stepped out of the arched doorway and the heavy door thudded shut behind her. Marek’s hand hardened around hers. Had he felt that unwanted tremor? Ash gritted her teeth and again willed one foot in front of the other. She had walked away from Rani. She could cross the narrow yard to the outer gate.
The air tasted different, the acrid burn of smoke and the thick stink of the city heavy in her lungs. Her throat tightened. Somehow, the air inside the temple remained pure, untainted. Her thoughts jumped. More magic? She’d never believed and yet her life seemed to be shrouded in it.
Guards in shining steel-plate armor saluted and two of them cranked pulleys to lift and part the heavy metal doors. The screech and thump of the mechanism set her teeth on edge. She had only ever watched the doors opening from one of the highest bell towers, the intricate slide of metal over metal a silent show. Now, she waited, her heart in her throat as the last barrier of the temple parted before her.
The vast area of Emperor Square stretched out before them. Wagons trundled along the deep grooves cut into the stone, worn down by the centuries. Three men on bow-backed nags clopped around them, wicker panniers heavy with fish. Already, the first-hour crowd milled through the first stalls, the noise of their chatter, of men and women unfolding benches and the hawkers’ voices echoing across the square. It was the third day of the month and the surrounding farms brought their produce in to sell, setting up their carts and stalls between the temples and tall civic buildings.
A man crying out the virtues of his leeks and onions faltered as he caught sight of them. His face blanched. Laughing children staggered to a gasping halt at her side. Then swift murmurs passed through the crowd. People fell back in a slow wave, none of them taking their attention from Marek. Ash glanced at him, wanted to see what had the sharp scent of fear clinging to the people, but she saw only his stark beauty, gilded by the slants of light as the sun climbed over the Basilica of Pluvius.
A man stepped out of the crowd, tall and dark like Marek. He wore the same leather, buckled tunic, though his was pitted and stained. “Out in the first hour, Marek Savada.”
“I’ve no time for this.”
“I warned you—”
“You didn’t warn me, Jasha.” Marek side-stepped the man, the crowd of people shrinking back, still needing to keep their distance. Street soldiers in burnished armor moved through the knots of people, but they stopped at the edge of the crowd. Whatever was happening was not their business. None of the citizens of Bukhara seemed eager to leave the square. So much for her protection. Marek pulled danger to him. “You got drunk and mouthed off. Now you feel obliged to act out your drunken threat.” He paused and the strange silence of the square hung heavy. “Don’t.”
“You’re a canker within the Order. Unnatural. Unwanted. You survive only on your reputation.”
But Jasha was turned on his heel as Marek walked straight past him, Ash trotting fast at his side. A gaggle of women stared, leaning in to get a good look at her under her heavy hood. Ash jerked away.
“My reputation is deserved.” Marek snorted. “You’ve not lived in the city long enough to know this.”
“Face me.”
Jasha’s low growl ran a chill over her skin, but it didn’t stir the dark birthmark on her spine. That seemed reserved for Marek’s voice. But still, his threat tightened her gut. Marek’s hand remained fast around hers and she drew a strange comfort from it.
“I will take what you hold.”
Marek stopped and Ash could almost feel the weight that settled on him. “Don’t do this, Jasha.”
“You can’t ignore this challenge to your right to be a custodian.”
Marek closed his eyes and for a long moment, he simply breathed. “Fine, if this is what you want.” He half-turned to face Jasha, but his attention fixed on her. “Hold this.” He eased his hand free of hers and presented her with the shiny, wooden box. His fingertips brushed hers and a spark of heat surged, forcing a gasp.
“Stop doing that!” she muttered.
A smile tugged at Marek’s mouth. “It’s not me.” But then he frowned. “Hold it tight to your chest.”
Ash pressed the side of the box against her cloak and dug her fingers around its sharp edges. The wood was cool against her palms and wrists and she had the strange sensation of a pattern against her skin, though the box was plain. “What is this?”
“That’s not your concern. Keep it safe.” He pointed to the cobbles, marking a place two feet away from him. “Stand there.”
Ash resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Any more orders?”
“Yes, don’t interfere.” Marek faced Jasha, rubbing his hands together. He straightened his shoulders. “I’m giving you the chance to walk away, Jasha.”
The man laughed. “Is this what all the others have done? Turned and ran? You’re nothing more than a first-rank custodian leeching from the Order.”
“I have that rank for a reason.”
Jasha raised his hands. Light flashed and arced between his palms, and the stink of hot metal filled the warm morning air. As one, the crowd moved back and Ash had the need to scramble back with them. What kind of magic was this?
She tore her gaze from the stark, blue-white light writhing over the other man’s palms and stared at Marek. Or what she could see of him as she stood behind his left shoulder. She thought she caught the bright burn of light sparking over his fingers too. What were they going to do? Lash each other with whips of lightning?
Jasha sprang forward. Marek blocked him with a raised arm. Light surged over them, and the hollow ring of thick metal echoed. Marek grabbed at his upper arms, bunching the leather of his opponent’s stained tunic. “Stop this now.” His order was little more than a growl as he fought to hold him, both men’s boots scuffing over the uneven cobbles.
Jasha bared his teeth, his face twisted in anger. “No.”
He pushed hard against Marek’s chest, but the custodian was already moving, his leg and then his foot smashing into Jasha’s shin. The low clang of metal rang out and Jasha lost his balance. Marek was ready for him and shifted his weight, hurling the man to the right and down. Jasha’s cry cut short as he slammed into the hard stone of the square. No metal clanged and the surge of lightning around his hands flickered and died.
Marek crushed his foot against the man’s throat. “I have proven my right to hold.” The words came out harsh, tight, his chest heaving as he pulled in needed air. He twisted his boot heel and Jasha’s fingers scrabbled at its worn leather. “Say it.”
“You…”
Marek bent down, his face close to the sweating man. The stink of light churning over his hands drifted across the silent air. “Yes?”
Ash, her heart in her throat, strained to listen to his gurgled whisper…but she couldn’t catch the words. The watching crowd was with her, leaning in as close as they dared to witness Jasha’s defeated admission. Whatever it was, it satisfied Marek who lifted his boot and yanked the man to his feet.
Jasha rubbed at his neck, his face still red and sweaty. He gave Marek a short bow. “Marek Savada.” His pale gaze flicked over her and then he broke back into the tight thong.
“Well?” Marek addressed the crowd and as one, they scattered. He turned back to her and took the box from her bloodless fingers. “Time to go.”
Chapter Two
“What did he say to you?”
Marek wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her close to his side. He strode across the square, weaving to t
he left of the Emperor’s Platform. “I defended my reputation. He agreed it was deserved.”
The wild rush of the fight had her blood hot and made her mouth quick. “And that’s it?”
He stared at her. A frown line creased his forehead. “You ask too many questions for a temple woman.”
Slaves busied themselves on the raised stones, constructing an awning against the promised heat of the late-summer sun. They stopped…and scurried away from the balustrade, their attention fixed on Marek. Was the whole of Bukhara terrified of this man? Their fear kicked some sense into Ash. She was trapped with him until the goddess said otherwise. “This,” she lifted her hand that he held, “has me confused. Rani—the warden priest—only told me last night that I was sold—”
“Sold?” His mouth thinned. “I hate dealing with priests.” His fingers flexed around hers and she thought she caught a wince pulling at his cheek. “I gave them a mark, a promise of intent. I will remain your custodian for as long as the temple sees fit.”
The temple? The next question burned on her tongue and she couldn’t fight the need to say it. “They can decide when I go back?”
“If.”
The single word had her gut twisting tight. She knew it wasn’t her right to question the goddess and she had always accepted the priests’ readings…but none of them had ever thrown a ward from the haven of the temple. If a ward left, she took the trek to another shrine in the empire. She was not shoved at a stranger. That fear and frustration worked its way through her thoughts again. She pinched at the bridge of her nose. “Why is this happening?” she muttered.
“Ashsara, stop asking questions.”
He knew her full name…and he hadn’t been witness to Nelek saying it. She wanted to ask if it had been written on the order from the emperor—and her name being known to the emperor himself scared her—but she didn’t ask. It twisted her gut even tighter. Not knowing something had always burned under her skin.