Men of Anderas II: Dak the Protector

by Cheryl Johnson

  "There," she smiled weakly when she secured the final round of the bandage, "you should feel much better by morning. Are you hungry? There's plenty of food and water to drink. I've ordered another bath for you in the morning. You have to keep the wounds clean."

  Dak's raised eyebrow effectively shut Kierin’s mouth with a snap. She didn't understand her reaction to this stranger. One minute she was flushed and panting, the next she rambled as if she had sunstroke. This wouldn't do at all. If she hoped to accomplish her goal, she must remain in control--of herself as well as Dak.

  Chapter Three

  "Wake up, Dak. The transport leaves in two hours. We must hurry."

  He heard the soft, feminine voice in the sleepy recesses of his mind and responded to the gentle siren call. The purr rumbling in his throat changed to a groan of pain when he rolled toward the voice.

  "Wait. Don't try to rise. Let me help you."

  I don't want your help. His grumbling refusal might have carried more weight if he were capable of speaking past a jaw locked in pain--and the crystal around his neck. He would cut out his tongue before admitting just how weak he felt.

  "What's wrong? Where is this pain coming from? The powdered yellow crystal in the ointment should have healed all but the worst of your wounds."

  "I have a cracked rib, maybe two.” Damn. He grudgingly accepted the effect of the stone around his neck, and his inability to fight it.

  "Why did you not say something last night? The bones would be repaired by now."

  "You didn't ask.” Does she honestly expect me to believe her bits of rock would heal broken bones overnight? Not even the technological advances of the best MediCenter on Anderas can achieve that miracle.

  "Oh," Kierin whispered, a blush staining her cheeks pink, "I'm sorry. I was so distracted I didn't even bother to examine you. It must be done now. Before your bath. Please remove your clothes."

  Dak watched the color in her face fade from pink to ghostly white before flaming a bright red. Now just what's going through that pretty head of yours, crystal witch? In his experience women usually blushed when they were embarrassed, lying or aroused. It's possible she felt ashamed for not realizing the extent of his injuries, but he didn't think so. She said she was distracted. By me? Well, well. Is the little witch aware of me as a man? Maybe she wants stud service after all. After his public arousal yesterday, he knew his body wasn't immune to her charms. She wasn't his usual type but he could probably get around that. He liked women with lush proportions who weren't afraid to let the action get wild, and his last visit to a pleasure station was more than eighteen months ago. Hell! I'll close my eyes and do it for King and country if it means I can find my men and get back home.

  "Dak? Is something wrong?"

  "No, Lady.” Her color was back to normal, and he thought she looked exasperated. Maybe you're imagining things, Dak, old friend. She's not exactly panting.

  "Then take your clothes off so I can examine your wounds. My name is Kierin."

  "Yes, Kierin.” There's that blush again. Is she angry or hot and bothered? Let's just see how far I can push the limits of this damned rock.

  Careful not to move too fast and using the wall to support himself until his rubbery legs stopped shaking, he stood beside the bed. Catching and holding Kierin’s gaze with his own, he untied the knot at his waist, releasing the ends of the shirt and letting it slide down his arms. Encouraged by the widening of her eyes, he unfastened the bandage around his chest, allowing the ends to unwrap themselves with just a little tug from him. When the bandage fell to the floor, he spread his fingers and slowly combed through the hair on his chest and stomach, smiling at Kierin’s soft gasp. By all the Ancient Prophets, her powders worked. Not by so much as a twitch of a whisker did he reveal his amazement at finding the multitude of tiny scabs covering the raw, bleeding lacerations of yesterday.

  "If you'll sit on that chair by the lamp, I'll check your rib cage."

  Dak's smile widened when Kierin had to clear her throat twice before giving him instructions. "Yes, Kierin.”

  Yes, indeed. This little crystal witch, for all her powers, is still a woman. And she knows I'm a man. You just lost the war, sweetheart, because this battle is all in your own mind.

  Kierin closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on what must be done. The room was suddenly too warm and it was all his fault. The sight of his hand, stroking his chest, tangling in that thick cloud of hair made her mouth dry and other areas of her body damp. Her whole world was suddenly upside down and she didn't know why or what to do about it. First things first. Find out just how badly he's hurt. If you'd done this last night instead of running like a scared mouse, he'd be in very little pain and you would still be in control of the situation.

  Standing between Dak's knees, she stretched out her arms until her hands rested on his shoulders. Using touch instead of sight, she lightly traced the column of his throat beneath his beard. Finding nothing but warm flesh, Kierin stroked her fingers back along his neck and across the width of his shoulders. There were too many injured areas to count but Kierin sensed they would soon heal with the aid of her healing crystals. Harder to identify was the way touching him made her feel.

  The natural warmth of his skin when combined with the subtle musky smell that was particular to Dak made breathing a chore. She found she wanted nothing more than to lean into his strength. She would be safe with him. But your heart could be in serious trouble. Trying hard to ignore her reaction, she continued her exploration.

  "Hold out your arms, please.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears--breathless and strained. With the first touch of her hand against his ribs, he sucked in a harsh breath.

  "I'm sorry for the pain I must cause. It's the only way to know where to place the crystals.

  His ragged breathing told her just how much pain he endured with her touch. When she reached the lowest rib her sensitive fingers discovered an unusual wound, long healed. The strange, slender ridge of scar tissue was different from any injury she'd ever treated.

  "What caused this?” She smoothed her fingers over the slightly puckered area about three inches below his ribs just above his waist.

  "A sword."

  "You could have been killed.” She rested her palm against his side, covering the old puncture. "How did it happen?"

  "I'm a warrior. Warriors are often wounded in battle."

  Dak spread his legs wider and it was as natural as breathing for her to step closer, into the sheltering cradle of his thighs. The feel of his large hands on her hips brought her to her senses. Stepping back with a jerk, she fought the trembling in her limbs, struggling for some emotional distance from this familiar stranger.

  "You have three cracked ribs and a bruised diaphragm. After your bath I'll bind a crystal over each place. By this time tomorrow you'll hardly know you've been injured. Please hurry; we can't afford to miss this transport. I asked for a shaving kit with your bath, if you wish to remove your beard. Do you have any questions?” She closed her mouth with a snap when she realized she was babbling like an idiot again.

  "What about your bath?"

  Kierin turned and practically ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  What do you care if she takes a bath or not? Your first chance to speak freely, more or less, and you ask about her personal hygiene habits? You've lost it, Dak.

  He continued chewing on his own stupidity while he climbed into the wooden tub of tepid water. Shaking his head in disgust, he pushed the episode aside and focused on devising an escape plan--if Kierin ever removed the rock from his neck. She controlled his actions like a child's puppet, but he could think--and watch--and plan. It surprised him to realize he had some power over his own body.

  Was the stone responsible for the meekness he experienced yesterday? Did the pain and exhaustion intensify the effects of the stone? There were clues here but he was missing something, something vital. He'd shaken her up pretty good with his spontaneous str
iptease. And he'd put his hands on her without thinking about it. When a beautiful woman stood between his legs, it was a natural instinct to touch her. Maybe that was the clue. If he thought about it, the crystal would render him helpless. If he didn't think, just acted, could he escape the power of the stone? He'd have to work on that angle again. Maybe his luck was changing. He figured he was long overdue for a little luck.

  * * * *

  Six hours into the thirty-hour trip to Cyprian, Kierin closed her eyes and listened to Dak's soft snore with mixed emotions. The soothing tea would help him regain his strength while the crystals taped to his ribs healed his broken bones. She knew this with her head. All of her training, her very genetic makeup taught her to seek the source of pain and suffering and eliminate the root of the problem. How could she be so aware of others and so helpless to know how to deal with her own problems?

  Dak was her problem and her solution. He was her last chance for survival and he terrified her more than all of Draagon’s Phantom Riders together. Draagon threatened her life. Dak threatened everything she knew about herself. This was supposed to be a clear-cut business transaction. His freedom for his services. Simple. Direct. Quickly finished. It just wasn't working out that way. Every time she worked up the courage to tell him what she wanted--needed--from him, he would pierce her with those warm brown eyes and she forgot to breathe.

  A soft grunt drew her attention back to Dak's sleeping form and a grin twitched at the corners of her mouth. Public transport seats weren't designed for her tall, muscular Anderan. He certainly didn't look like her image of royalty wearing crudely made clothing belonging to a much smaller man. Although, she had to admit he looked less forbidding without the beard. Her reaction to his changed appearance was directly related to her current state of mind.

  Sleep softened his square jaw and chiseled features, making him seem more approachable. If only she could explain while he slept. Don't be a fool. He's been lied to, tricked, and tortured. Unless you're prepared to explain the reasons behind your unorthodox request--all the reasons--you can't expect him to believe you.

  No, she couldn't tell him why she needed him. To do so would condemn him to death as well. Her only chance lay with making him believe the idea came from him. How? Could she use the crystal? Was the dream episode a fluke? A random accident of time and place? She knew there was more to being a female crystal witch than what she learned from her father. He often apologized for failing in her training. She missed having her mother around, but never had she regretted her loss as much as now. She wasn't prepared to deal with someone like this Anderan. Dak's strong personality and turbulent emotions frightened her beyond belief. She had no point of reference to gage his reaction to her interference--nor her strange reaction to him. Did she have the courage to open herself to such an intimate act?

  Invading his mind isn't nearly as intimate as what you have planned. Think. There has to be a way.

  She had to have her plans firmly in her own mind before she started. But, what kind of plan? As long as he wore the amulet around his neck, any physical reaction was impossible. Yet, without the crystal, he wouldn't follow her orders. What was it her brother used to say about getting caught in a web of your own making? How had such a simple idea become so tangled?

  Focus on one problem at a time. The final product starts with the first step--and that meant arousing Dak's sexual interest. The image must be subtle, so his mind could alter and enhance it to fit his existing memories. It must also be erotically potent. Strong enough to overcome all his objections. Admittedly, her experience with the erotic was limited by her innocence. She knew the mechanics of which body part went where, but her only practical knowledge was of animals--and the couple she had stumbled across in the shadows outside the inn on Safe Haven.

  Grateful that he couldn't see the blush heating her face, she focused on recreating last night's scene in her mind. With her own amulet clutched tightly in her hand, she aimed the image toward Dak's subconscious. Concentrating on the woman with her skirts bunched around her waist, bent over a bale of hay and the man with his pants around his ankles, rocking his hips against her buttocks, she willed him to accept and respond.

  When his deep breathing grew shallow and rapid, she shifted the image until Dak's body replaced the thin, dirty man from Safe Haven; lifting the shadows until Dak's face glistened with the sweat of his exertions. A soft, rumbling purr accompanied Dak's restless shifting in the small space. His hands, crossed loosely at his waist, shifted downward, stroking his own crotch; his hips rocking in rhythm to the scene she created in his head.

  Without warning, his eyes opened, pinning her with a heavy-lidded gaze. His fathomless brown eyes glowed with the fire of arousal. He knows!

  Dropping the stone in her hand, Kierin did what any rational female would do under the circumstances. She ran for the privacy of the ladies’ lounge.

  Chapter Four

  Dak frowned at the retreating back of his owner. What did she hope to gain by that demonstration? That was some scene you created, Kierin. Why? What are you up to, little witch? He didn't believe for a minute that it was simple seduction she was after. If she wanted a little bedroom action, all she had to do was ask. He’d adjust all her hormones--in exchange for his freedom. No, this whole episode was planned and he'd bet a year's income that her plans didn't include sex. She was a beautiful, desirable woman. He didn't think there were many men who would turn down a chance for some between-the-sheets fun and games with her.

  Find out what's she up to and I'll have the key to my freedom.

  Realizing he still stroked his lifeless crotch, Dak shoved his hands into his pockets with a snort of disgust. He hadn't indulged in self-gratification since he was a boy--not that his body was cooperating, anyway. Just the idea of the solitary act left him feeling unfulfilled. So this is what she meant when she said her stone would take care of my problem. As long as I wear this rock, nothing happens.

  So, if not sex, then what reason did a woman like Kierin have for dealing with the likes of Murdock? What would it take to send a woman with her obvious abilities to Safe Haven? Why does she need a man? Manual labor? She said it would take more than a week of steady traveling to reach her home. There had to be men on her planet able to do any heavy work she required and for a lot less than this trip was costing her.

  Why? Why go to all this trouble to own a slave?

  And why the mind games? She acted too innocent to be a tease and her tender treatment of his injuries suggested she was kind-hearted. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was driving the crystal witch. Something that was forcing her to act totally out of character.

  You never laid eyes on her until yesterday. How do you know what her true character is like?

  Dak trusted his instincts when it came to people and whenever he met someone who didn't fit with what his gut told him, he hammered away at them until he discovered why. With Kierin, there were too many pieces that didn't fit. Like that dream she planted in his head. She was too refined, too gentle for the coarse rutting scene. He pictured her wearing something light and delicate. Lying on midnight blue sheets. Surrounded by the fragrance of crushed flowers. Bathed in the soft glow of candles. That glorious mane of white hair spread across the bed, waiting for him. Oh, yes. He could definitely come up with a better scenario than hers.

  Tired of circling around and around the why of Kierin’s actions, he focused his attention on the how. If he could figure that out, he might find a way to stop her or at least change the odds in his favor.

  The smallest detail always gave away the flaw. He surprised the hell out of her when he woke up so suddenly. That much was obvious. She dropped that stone ….

  She dropped the stone and the images disappeared. The stone? Is her crystal the source of her powers? Or merely an amplifier?

  Every instinct he possessed screamed that the stone was the key. He had to figure out how the crystal worked. His agile mind and a fascination for plotting strategy ma
de him invaluable as a leader, first to King Zeth, and now JarDan. All he needed was a little time and he’d turn this situation to his advantage.

  How much time do I have before all trace of my men disappears?

  Before his worries could depress him, Kierin returned to her seat--still blushing but with her chin thrust out in a militant I-dare-you-to-say-anything angle. Dak grinned.

  “Quit smirking.”

  His grin faded at her command. Blast and damn this piece of rock around my neck. Every order she gives, I follow. Power comes with a high price, little witch. Have you thought about what all of this will cost you in the end? Will the results be worth it?

  Kierin watched Dak’s lopsided grin disappear as anger replaced the teasing glint in his eyes. A curious sense of loss tugged at her chest. A feeling she wasn’t prepared to examine too closely. Hiding in the lounge didn’t do a thing for her massive case of embarrassment. So far, the only one of her plans that worked out the way she expected was finding Dak, alive and reasonably well, at Safe Haven. Everything else seemed to unravel around the edges. Obviously, she couldn’t continue with the image enhancements. He would know she was behind them when he woke up. The simplest solution would be to just tell him what she needed from him. The truth. Plain. Simple. Direct.

  Impossible. She couldn’t just look him in the eye and say it. It was too cold--too stark--too impersonal.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” She asked her traveling companion, more to break the uneasy silence than any actual need to eat.

  “No.”

  Only a supreme effort of will kept her from wincing at his answer. How could one softly spoken word feel like a physical blow? She couldn't even ignore him by staring out of the window. The cost of the upper deck transport seating was beyond her budget and the lower decks were nothing more than dull, grey, metal walls. She missed the comfortable silences of earlier more than she cared to admit and had no idea how to restore his sense of humor.