Gift of the Goddess

by Denise Rossetti

  He couldn’t suck enough air into his lungs. Goddess, for all his sexual experience as a shaman, Trey knew more about fucking a man than he did!

  The memory of Trey’s cock, the ridge under the head, stroking his again and again through Anje’s sweet flesh, made the eyes roll in his head. There’d been a moment there, when he’d looked into Trey’s eyes over her shoulder—he could have leaned forward a hairsbreadth and taken the lad’s mouth.

  Lufra, it had been close!

  And every sensation was intensified by Anje’s presence, amplified by the Bond link. Brin watched, his fists clenched, as she bent to fling the covers off Trey’s naked body, snickering at his bellow of outrage. Her unconscious sensuality was like a conduit for lightning between the three of them. The sense of connection had been incredible.

  As if she felt the weight of his hooded gaze, she turned and propped her hands on her hips. “What?”

  Brin forced his lips to relax. Not for the world would he let her glimpse his confusion. “Nothing.”

  By Lufra, she was his! His to teach, his to pleasure. She wasn’t supposed to test his honor, show him the dark side of his own soul. It must be the Bond link, he decided. Because her every action last night had teased him unbearably with the possibility of mastering both of them.

  Gods, he didn’t think he could take another session like that without cracking. He wanted her again already, with an urgent desire. But he couldn’t have Anje without Trey, because she had to learn to submit to many cocks, many mouths, many hands, in order to survive the Great Rite.

  Darkly, he watched her ferreting through her pack for heavier garments, muttering under her breath. She’d thrown out a challenge, his sweet warrior, and inexperienced as she was, she’d homed in on the only instrument he could barely resist.

  Trey.

  So be it.

  Brin turned and wrenched his saddlebag open. He wouldn’t succumb if it killed him.

  But even as he made the vow, his balls tightened and his cock reared in wicked expectation of failure.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wise trainer capitalizes on the typical behavior of the wild vranee. In the initial stages of rutting contests, males use their weight against each other, straining shoulder to shoulder. As the battle escalates, hooves and horns come into play and death or serious injury can result. Using the “Four Reinforcements” method described in the following pages, vranee may be trained to use their formidable natural weapons on command.

  “Battlefield training: first principles”, Page 45, Chapter 5, Barrett and Taten’s Vranee Training Manual, 10197 ATF.

  Anje stiffened as Brin dropped a heavy coat over her shoulders. It was made of vran hide with the feathers left on and it swamped her, falling below her knees. Her brows rose as she stroked it. “What’s this?”

  “You haven’t traveled in the mountains, have you, scout?”

  “No, it’s out of my range. Why?”

  “We’ve got two days in the high passes ahead of us. It’ll be bitter cold.”

  The coat smelled of vran and of him. “But what about you?”

  The crooked smile flashed. “I’ll have you to keep me warm.”

  He spoke no more than the truth. Seated snug before the shaman as Twink picked his way up the high trail, Anje was bracketed by his hard thighs and the bulk of his big body. As they climbed higher, she stared across the vista of the Mountains of Morn, eyes wide with awe. The air was crisp and chilly, though mercifully, no snow fell. All about was dark rock, stark and bold, jutting into the pure blue of the sky. Peak after peak marched away, until they were lost in the mists of distance. The silence was absolute, save for the jingling of harness and the rattle of pebbles under the hooves of the vran. It even smelled cold, of ancient stone and frozen water.

  At her back, Brin swayed easily to the stride of the vran, a blanket thrown over his shoulders, his body warmth keeping her comfortable. He didn’t speak and Anje fell into the comfortable silence she was accustomed to as a scout. She checked on Trey, riding a pace behind on his big black, the pack-beasts following, and then leaned her head back into Brin’s shoulder. He slid a gloved hand across her belly, under the coat and pressed a kiss into her hair as they rode on.

  Anje felt as though they moved enclosed in an enchanted bubble, but it was several minutes before she realized why.

  She was happy.

  Truly, deeply content.

  Mother of Mercy, her duty, she’d forgotten her duty! The thought was so shocking, it forced a startled grunt from her. Bleakly, she wondered if she’d have to kill him. On the heels of the thought, his nearness became too much too bear. She straightened her spine, shifting away from the heat of his body.

  “What’s wrong?” His breath plumed in the air.

  Heart thudding, she shook her head. “Nothing. I should ride with Trey.”

  But Trey would fight to the death for Brin. She knew he would. Nauseated, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

  Brin’s arm pressed her closer. “Look, that’s where we’re going tomorrow. Between those two peaks and down to the Sitariat-Gillen Tableland.”

  “Is that where Feolin is?” She squinted into the sky. Nothing moved save for a highhunter circling, wings spread to catch an updraft. But the Shadow had nibbled another thin slice out of the Sun.

  “It’s days further. Plenty of time to see to your education, scout.” His hand cupped her mound through the layers of clothing. “How’s that pretty ass? Need more padding?”

  Irritated, she wriggled on the soft pad of cloth he’d fashioned to cushion her on Twink’s broad back. “I’m fine,” she snapped and immediately felt churlish.

  “Good.” He nipped her earlobe. “Hope we find a good cave for tonight.”

  Anje growled, but she couldn’t help glancing at Trey.

  Brin lowered his voice to a diabolical whisper. “That’s right, he’s dying for your ass, Anje. Should we give it to him, do you think?”

  In the end, the question was academic. The sky grew darker, pregnant with ominous cloud. The first snow flurries began just before dusk and a ring of huge boulders was the best they could find for a camp. They made the grumbling vranee hunker down in a close circle and huddled together in the center, protected by the bulk of the animals’ large feathery bodies. Once the snow ceased, the temperature dropped and the cold grew killing. It made for a miserable night, though Anje had the best of it, sandwiched between the two men.

  She couldn’t believe how quickly her body had trained itself to respond to their proximity. Dozing and waking through the endless night, she craved bare skin and hard cock with a keenness that amazed and appalled her.

  Sometime after midnight, she furrowed a hand under her clothing and sought out the wetness between her thighs.

  “Uh-uh.” Trey’s hand clamped over hers. “That’s ours.”

  “Well done. You’ll be a shaman yet,” rumbled Brin. He rubbed his bristly cheek against hers in a sleepy caress. “You’re a bad girl, Anje. Trey, you caught her, you choose the punishment.”

  “Mmm,” murmured Trey. Though it felt as though they were on the roof of the world, there were no stars visible through the cloud cover. His voice whispered out of absolute darkness, seemingly disembodied. “Two punishments.”

  “Two? But—”

  “Shush, love. I’d freeze my cock off before I got it in you. So—tomorrow night, you’re mine, to do with as I will. But for now, I think I’ll tell you a story.”

  “Hey!” Brin protested. “You’re not supposed to punish me too!”

  Trey’s chuckle was full of lechery. “Ah, but I want to, you big bastard.”

  Anje frowned. “Why is a story punishment?”

  The shaman said dryly, “Trey’s a poet, Anje. He has a way with words.”

  He spoke no less than the truth. Trey’s husky, golden voice floated out of the dark, weaving word-pictures so delightfully salacious, Anje was at first shocked, then darkly titillated. He chose the tale of Lufra
and the Dragon King and by the time the goddess had accepted the forked tongue and gigantic cock of her dragon lover into every orifice of her divine body, Anje was biting her lip, her sex heated and swollen.

  The two men were sealed to her, one on either side, and the heat they generated kept her almost warm. Even through the layers and layers of clothing, she could feel two magnificent erections.

  “Want to try?” Trey nudged her hip, his breath harsh in her ear.

  “Save the offering for tomorrow night,” growled Brin. “It’ll be spectacular.”

  Holy Mother, he couldn’t mean better than last time? Anje gulped.

  Could he?

  Brin wrapped his arms around both of them. “Go to sleep.”

  In sheer desperation, Anje shut her eyes and drifted into heated dreams of claws and wings and raging lust.

  The following day, she rode with Trey, as promised. But it wasn’t peaceful, not at all. Trey insisted on whispering in her ear, describing in relentless detail all he was going to do to her, everything she was going to do to him, to Brin. It was worse than the goddess story, because it was real—all deliciously possible.

  Anje shifted. At this rate, she’d arrive at camp a helpless puddle of lust. “Trey, for the Mother’s sake, shut up! You’re driving me mad!”

  “Good.” He ran a hand lightly over her front, all the way from her neck to her pubic mound. “I’ll leave you to think about it.”

  She did nothing but think about it, while they wound their way out of the mountains and down toward the tableland. The occasional clump of green appeared, clinging to the rocky terrain, then small copses of wind-tortured trees and sparse grass. It grew warmer and she shrugged off Brin’s big coat. As the landscape opened up, the shaman began ranging ahead, drifting in and out of sight.

  Anje was all but drowsing when a small, distinct ping! sounded in her ear. “The wards!” Trey spat a vicious curse and pulled up his black. With a ringing rasp, he unsheathed his sword, glaring around with narrowed eyes.

  There was no real cover close by. They traveled through what must have once been a streambed. A straggly line of candlewoods marked one boundary and a wall of mountain rock the other.

  With a snarling whistle, a crossbow quarrel shot out of the trees and slammed into the chest of Trey’s vran. The animal shrieked and stumbled to its knees. Anje swung her leg over and slid down, landing on the balls of her feet while Trey leaped clear. Blade in hand, she looked up to see a wave of Hssrda scrambling out of the trees. They covered the ground on all fours, in an ungainly shamble that ate up the distance with amazing speed.

  “Lufra! Quick!” Trey hurled her behind the prone body of the vran and leaped to meet the first Hssrdan, skewering it neatly beneath the jaw as it reared up in its fighting stance.

  A heavy tail swept her feet out from under her, but Anje rolled away before another of the creatures could pin her down. The bulk that gave it power made it slow. Springing up, she slammed her foot into its armored neck and bent to drive her knife into one yellow eye. The Hssrdan gave a guttural scream as the blade grated against bone and the serrated halberd dropped from its grasp. As it thrashed about, she danced out of reach, searching for the next threat.

  Trey had accounted for another. His sword dripped with green ichor. But blood streamed down one thigh and two Hssrda lolloped toward him, with another approaching cautiously from an angle, its hideous mouth agape.

  “Run!” he shouted. He dodged a blow from a taloned fist. “Anje, run!”

  She did, but only as far as the pack-beasts. Still tethered to the corpse of Trey’s black, they plunged and reared, whistling with terror. Grabbing Brownie’s halter, Anje wrestled him down and slashed the line free. Clambering up the vran’s feathered side, she fell into the saddle all anyhow. It took all her strength to haul Brownie around and start him back toward Trey.

  A heavy arrow whizzed over her head and struck the second packvran in the neck. It gurgled and died.

  As the flanking Hssrdan charged Trey, she gave Brownie a mighty kick in the ribs. With a honk of rage, the vran surged forward. One clawed foot sank into the Hssrdan’s belly with a meaty thunk. It tumbled end over end. Brownie followed, reared and came down with both front hoofs. Uttering a shrill squeal of triumph, he stamped and trampled, while Anje gritted her teeth against the carrion reek.

  Clinging to fistfuls of mud-colored feathers, she shouted, “Trey! Come on!”

  From over a rise came the rapid drumming of a vran at full gallop. Brin burst into the clearing, leaning low over Twink’s withers, sword flashing in a lethal arc. With a bellow of rage, he ducked the wicked thrust of a halberd and all but decapitated its owner.

  “Go! Go!” he yelled at them as Twink thundered past.

  The remaining Hssrdan whirled to meet the new threat and Trey sprang on to Brownie’s back behind Anje. “Showoff!” he muttered, grabbing the reins and urging the vran after Brin.

  The Hssrdan straightened. It was a head taller than any of the others. A string of colored scales gleamed a violent magenta on one shoulder. It gave a sibilant whistle and over a dozen of the creatures boiled out of cover ahead of them.

  Holy Mother, there were too many! Too many for ten warriors, let alone two and a scout.

  The shaman pulled Twink up so hard, the beast was flung back on his haunches. Glaring back over his shoulder, Brin bellowed, “Get going! Now!”

  The leading Hssrdan reached up to claw his thigh and got a sword in the gullet. Twink’s hooves flashed as he kicked and slashed and the creatures fell back to a wary circle. For the first time, Anje realized Feolin vranee were trained for battle. Even old Brownie hadn’t forgotten his glory days.

  A halberd jabbed Twink in the withers and he stumbled. With a sobbing curse, Trey kicked Brownie toward the mêlée, but the shaman leaped from the foundering vran and charged the Hssrda on foot. Eyes wide with horror, Anje watched him interpose his body between them and the enemy. “No,” she whispered.

  But it was true.

  “Run!” roared Brin, as his sword arm rose and fell.

  Buying them time.

  The Hssrda surged forward. Brin’s strength and skill were formidable, but not even he could hold off so many armored enemies indefinitely.

  Trey sobbed and swore in an agony of indecision.

  Another hissing command from the Hssrdan with the colored scales and the creatures swarmed forward. Brin disappeared under a pile of scaly, thrashing bodies.

  Deep inside Anje, something she’d hardly been aware of winked out. Mother, it hurt! With a thin cry, she sagged forward over the vran’s neck. As though the movement was a trigger, Trey screamed, “Yee-hah!” and dug his heels into Brownie’s sides.

  The vran broke into an ungainly trot, then a rocking gallop. They thundered out of the clearing, cannoning into the shoulder of the Hssrda commander, sending it spinning as they headed for the trees.

  A moment later, they heard the scream of an enraged vran and the pounding of hooves. Twink caught up, drew level and surged past, his horns dripping green with Hssrda blood, eyes white with terror. With a grunt, Trey leaned sideways, supple as trick rider, and snagged a flapping rein.

  Anje clenched her teeth against the welling nausea. Brin, ah Brin! Her very bones ached and the wrenching, empty space in her soul whimpered and bled.

  Propelled by fear, the vranee galloped on together for a long time before they flagged. “We’ve lost them, I think.” Trey drew the beasts to a halt under a huge sorrowtree. He turned his head, listening.

  There was absolute silence, as if the forest creatures crouched stricken in their burrows.

  “Oh, Anje.” He tightened his arms around her waist and dropped his head to her shoulder. “The stupid, stupid—” Every muscle in his lithe body shook with the violence of his reaction. His teeth chattered.

  Shock, she thought dully. Shock. She should do something.

  Moving like an old, old woman, she scrambled off Brownie and held up her arms. She couldn’t
speak. She thought it likely she’d never utter another word in her life.

  Trey came willingly, sliding down into her embrace. Together, they collapsed into the bracken, holding tight as they drew comfort from each other, from simple human warmth.

  Anje drew her trembling fingers across his bloodless lips and kissed his eyelids, tasting the salt of his tears. How could she tell him? It wasn’t possible that Brin was dead, not Brin with his lethal half-smile and deep, teasing voice. Not the Brin who’d Bonded her without so much as a by-your-leave and then given his life for hers. Theirs.

  Holy Mother, it couldn’t be so!

  But there was nothing there. She probed the dark space in her soul as if it was a sore tooth she had to explore with her tongue.

  She hadn’t really believed him when he’d insisted they were linked by the Bond torques, but now she knew he’d spoken truly. Because he was gone.

  And he’d taken a part of her with him.

  The psychic pain was horrible, a rent in her soul. And she couldn’t touch it, couldn’t soothe it. Her head pounded.

  “Gods, what will I do without him?” Trey’s voice was hoarse with anguish.

  “Trey…” Anje coughed and tried again. “We should go on.” She didn’t care much for herself, but she recognized the desperate, reckless glint in his eye. He wouldn’t last long without her, not before he did something suicidally brave.

  “It tore me apart.” Trey continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Die with him or run with you.” He set his hands to her shoulders and drew her up in front of him. The strength of his grip was painful, but she scarcely felt it. His hazel eyes were wild, shiny with tears. He shook her a little. “Don’t leave me, Anje. Never.”