When the skin of a clammy hand touched the flesh of her belly, she went completely still.
“That’s more like it, bitch,” Bryan growled, yanking on her already ripped and torn clothing to expose her underwear. “I knew you would see things my way, Rhia. You always were a mewling little puke. It’s your fault I ended up on the borders all those cycles. Your fault! If you hadn’t run to your father blaming me for our little misunderstanding, I would have surpassed your rank by now. You deserved a beating then, and you deserve one now.”
Wasn’t there an old proverb in the ancient books that said pride goes before destruction? Obviously, the man wasn’t much of a history reader.
In his haste to dip into her goodies, he released her hands to get a better grip on her bottoms. Her elbow crashed into the middle of his throat. Suddenly he was the one having trouble breathing.
Now wasn’t that just too bad?
Knee to the groin preceded a full-contact left hook. He rolled completely away, eyes watering as he gasped through his bruised windpipe. It seemed he couldn’t decide whether to hold his throat and gag, hold his balls and moan, or soothe his swelling eye.
On her feet, she yanked up her leggings and retrieved her blade from the carpet near the door. The corner of her mouth lifted at the exact moment Bryan realized the only way out was through her securely locked balcony windows or the front door. The first option was a no go. But a four story fall wasn’t high enough to knock any sense into his hard head anyway. And unfortunately, Rhia and her blade stood in front of option number two.
There was a third option—part him from the family jewels he’d tried to force on her moments ago.
“You wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood. You don’t have it in you.” But the quaver in his voice said he didn’t believe his own words. He knew she’d do it. Knew she’d shred him. Sweat dripped from his brow and trailed down his clammy, pale skin like wax down a spent candle.
Neither of them heard the door open.
Chapter Three
His party had shown none of their discomfort or concern in their expressions at the suddenly pressing journey back to Draema Proper. In fact, if not for the chilling mounds of snow piled along the roads and the biting winds, it would have been a good time under clear, and amazingly vivid, blue skies.
They’d moved quickly through the buffer zone that separated Draema Seine from the capital of the province, Draema Proper. In the distance, the High City had been a welcome sight, rising from the heart of these lands. Built in the middle of its seven colonies, this was the most advanced area in the world. The dawning sunlight had reflected various shades of pink and purple off both the inner and outer walls; all of which were built with the famous, silvery-white Draeman stone.
Sleek looking buildings and tree-lined walks led into vast, city squares. The High City boasted a mix of rolling hills, and neatly-groomed pastures alongside well-kept roads. Some were laid with cobblestone, while others were covered by a smooth, dark, magnetized substance that allowed the passage of small conveyances called ‘hovers’. Horses were still used here for sport, but inner-to-outer city travel typically meant a ride in one of the neat little vehicles, or a spot on the magtrain. RuArk preferred the wild, open spaces of his own province, but didn’t hesitate to admit this place held wonder for those who appreciated such things.
Though he’d brought more than thirty warriors on this journey, only RuArk and a single fireteam of six warriors had passed through the city gates this morning. There were very few of his people in this place, yet he’d been immediately recognized. The advantage of being the son of the ruler of one of the neighboring provinces was being waved through the towering gates quickly. Well, that, and the reputation of being a ruthless bastard that took down enemies hard and fast with no promise to ask questions later didn’t hurt either.
Through a second set of lower walls that surrounded the Citadel, the High Counsel’s right-hand, Mannon, had greeted them and rushed them into a meeting. From this morning’s arrival, until leaving the High Counsel’s chambers moments ago, they’d worked through one planning session after another until everything was in place.
Though so tired his muscles weighed down his bones as he dragged himself toward the guest apartments, RuArk could not ignore the flash and tensing of excitement that tapped at his gut. As if something long dead was coming awake inside him, stretching and unfurling itself in anticipation of seeing where this new turn in life would lead.
And Rhia was smack in the middle of this, this... whatever it was.
As instructed, he’d gone to the Seeking place immediately after his encounter with the Grandfather in the Dream, and had indeed seen a sliver of what was to come. In spite of the intrigue and danger to the woman, what would occur between them would be hot as the midsummer sun. RuArk knew from the Seeking. Felt it as he replayed that vision over and over in his mind. Damn near ached for it now that he knew Rhia was somewhere near. Strange, he still hadn’t seen the flesh and blood star of his Seeking vision, but he would soon enough.
RuArk steered his First Commander, Sharyn, toward a wide archway that opened into a large, starlit atrium. The space was filled with lush, green trees, shrubs and a little stone bench where one could sit and enjoy the sun or moon overhead. At the rear of the atrium, two sets of mirroring staircases took off up the tower walls to a landing where tall arches led to wide hallways. The stairs continued up the walls, winding their way to another landing, and yet another.
Finally, they were at the top. There were no hallways or arches here—only two doors separated by a ten-meter wide, colorful mural of the Draeman countryside painted directly onto the gleaming white walls.
He’d just pressed the key against the wall lock of the rooms he would share with Sharyn when a panic-inducing yell rang through the tower. He looked toward the sound and cursed.
Sharyn’s gasp of surprise, followed by her quiet chuckle made him grimace. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, especially in the presence of a lady. The High Counsel put him in this part of the Citadel to keep an eye on Rhia. He’d hoped the job could wait until she returned from the made-up errand they’d created for her at Harbor Station.
“Apparently not,” RuArk muttered and moved quickly towards the source of the noise. Through her slightly open door, two voices were clearly heard, both of them yelling. Not wanting to be mistaken for an intruder, he opened the door carefully, just enough to peek inside. The scene that met him was wrong on too many levels to list.
A greasy looking fellow had Rhia flat on her back on the thick carpets, trying to rip her trousers off. She was obviously not cooperating. The man’s fist connected with her jaw. The blow should have knocked her out, but Rhia was moving and moving quickly. Her next breath saw her up off the floor and brandishing the wicked, long blade of a katana made in the old style.
Her intent was clear—skin the greaser.
Rhia’s hair was dark, fire streaked and tangled all over her head. But the blood. There was so much blood. It was on her face, streaming down her neck from her eyes, nose and mouth, enough to soak the collar of her top.
RuArk kept his expression neutral, but he really wanted nothing more than to rip the greaser in half. Hell, he might not love Rhia yet, but it was only a matter of time considering the Ancestors clearly meant for him to have her. The moment he’d accepted the Seeking, she’d been given into his care. And this man dared to threaten her? Not bloody likely.
His first thought was to kick the door in the rest of the way, stride across the room and grab the idiot by his scrawny neck. But he’d be a fool to simply stroll into the room and surprise a woman with a sharp blade in her hands and hellfire in her eyes.
In spite of the obvious injuries, her fighting form was perfect; her handling of the blade smooth and experienced. She held no fear and knew she was in a position to deliver a killing blow. And he couldn’t blame her one bit. In truth, it was Rhia’s ability to handle her visitor that helped keep RuArk’s anger in c
heck.
RuArk anticipated her move, knew the exact moment she’d decided to slice open the man’s chest. What was she thinking? The scandal it would cause—a man in her rooms this time of night, and a dead man at that. Not to mention all the blood and guts that would have to be cleaned up.
And it would ruin his investigation.
One step through the door, RuArk called out quietly. “Excuse me. Is there a problem here?”
◊ ◊ ◊
Rhia glanced away from the groveling swine on the floor and looked into eyes full of such a wondrous mix of gray and silver, they reminded her of the waters off Draema’s southern coast.
RuArk Miwatani—the bane of her childhood existence. A bane she hadn’t seen in so long she was surprised she recognized him. It was the eyes. Stormy sea, silver-as-fog, captivating eyes. Simply unforgettable. Ever. She had to look up a bit to meet his gaze, but once she caught it, Rhia was stuck right there.
Blazes, he was breath-stopping. Gone were the boyish good looks and mischievous expression. In their place was an angular jaw, high cheekbones and the confidence of a grown man.
A long, thick, black-as-sin braid was pulled forward over his shoulder to brush against the middle of his stomach. His skin, though quite a bit fairer than her own, was such a warm bronze that even now, at the end of midwinter, he appeared to have spent a good deal of time under the glorious sunshine. He wore an unadorned, dark gray, fine gauged tunic, with dyed-to-match trousers. The outline of thick, roped muscle was visible beneath the supple material.
He closed in on her with a step so light she still didn’t hear his footfalls even though she was watching him walk into her space.
And how the hell was she noticing this in the middle of a life or death struggle?
And what the hell was he doing here?
As far as she was concerned, he was yet another man in her space without her damn permission. Enough gawking. Back to business.
Rhia returned her attention to the weasel groaning on the floor and raised her katana for the final blow. But before she could take a step, RuArk grabbed Bryan by the collar of his finely appointed cloak, and the back of his finely appointed trousers, hauled him out the door, and tossed him down the closest staircase.
While Bryan tumbled, Rhia’s attention remained on RuArk.
She looked him dead in the eye—or tried to, given his typical tree-like Gaian height—and proceeded to tear his head off with her tongue.
“Look, asshole. I know you warrior types are used to throwing the muscle around, but this is Draema. Here, people don’t interfere unless they’re asked to interfere. If I’d needed help I would have...”
Rhia snapped her mouth shut mid-sentence. The most beautiful woman she’d ever seen stood directly behind the most ruggedly handsome man she’d ever known. Bone straight, thick, and black-as-midnight hair was partially covered with a length of translucent silk that could only be described as sensual. Actually, her entire outfit seemed to be one big wispy scarf. Her skin reminded Rhia of the summer fruits that, according to the histories, used to grow in the now non-existent southern locales so long ago.
“Peaches,” Rhia whispered, though she truly hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Rhia knew her hair was a tangled mess. Her face was swelling and surely beginning to display various colors in addition to being covered with drying sweat and blood. She wasn’t sure why she cared that this man might compare her raggedy, torn appearance to this exotic woman. Nope, she shouldn’t give a bloody goddamn... but she did.
And if this female had stood here the whole time, then she’d seen Rhia act a complete fool. She flew past ‘caring’ and skidded to a halt at ‘mortified’.
“Blasted hell,” she muttered.
Maybe the blows Bryan had landed on her face had shaken her brain loose because there was no way she should notice how ridiculously delicious RuArk’s lips looked with that bit of a smile spread over them. Gah.
“What do you want, RuArk? Aren’t you a little far from home?” she snapped, forcing a blizzard of coolness into her words.
“You screamed. Loudly.” He took a careful step toward her. His words may have been just as frosty as hers, but the look he gave was equal parts ‘smoking hot’ and ‘royally pissed’. “I can’t resist taking care of such a beautiful lady, especially if she’s in distress.”
RuArk’s tone slid over Rhia’s frazzled nerves like warm, honey syrup while his expression took on a mysterious quality. Could he see through her funky-assed mood straight into her head? Had he uncovered all the secret thoughts swirling around in there, all thoughts of him?
“Anything else I can do to assist you?” he asked. He was bossy as ever, entirely too close, and looking at her as if he knew something she didn’t. Icy anger began to melt. Fast.
Rhia shivered, but not from fear nor an adrenaline crash.
It was... Anticipation? But of what? And who? Not RuArk, for sure.
After all, she’d known this man forever. Though he’d been a boneheaded, spoiled, king’s son, she’d carried a torch for this particular pain-in-the-ass for years. Memories she’d pushed to the very fringe of her mind peeked their heads up and over the ragged edge of her consciousness.
She remembered RuArk putting straw in her hair.
RuArk besting her at wooden blade practice.
RuArk pulling stupid pranks on her, and getting her in trouble with both their fathers.
Sigh.
RuArk holding her hand at her mother’s funeral, wiping the tears from her cheeks and telling her it would be okay.
RuArk wrapping her in his cloak while she huddled in misery as they left the burial grounds so far away in Gaia province.
RuArk singing to her—quite badly at the top of his lungs—on her tenth birthday after talking his father into bringing him on an unscheduled visit, just to give her a birthday present he’d made with his own hands.
RuArk telling her he was going away to train for his role as Protector of the Realm of Gaia.
RuArk, staying away for years. Fucking years. Even when she’d been aware that he’d come to the High City on official business, he’d never once sought her out.
But it didn’t matter now. The last time she’d seen him, Rhia had made a couple of trips to her own personal hell and back. She’d become her own woman—a woman who would never need saving by anyone. Ever.
And that included the gorgeous man towering over her.
“You should visit the Physicians, Rhia. It’s getting late. I will escort you, if you wish,” he said.
So he was trying to save her, and tell her what to do? Not. Her out-of-whackness dissolved, replaced by a wash of hot anger. And a bit of unexplainable fear. Rather than dealing with the latter, she squashed her emotions into the toes of her blood-spattered boots and straightened her already-ramrod spine.
“I’m fine and I can see to myself. So fuck. Off. RuArk.”
She nudged him out with the tip of her katana, and practically punched a hole in the wall lock panel. The door slammed shut. So what if her behavior was irrational. Who cared? Besides, nobody asked the big guy to appear out of nowhere anyway. And she certainly hadn’t asked him to toss that pig, Bryan Collaidh, down the stairs when she would have rather given him a few choice cuts.
Did it matter she’d been a shrew to a man who’d always set her pulse racing and put her senses on edge? Or that she’d bled all over the place in front of an exotic looking woman in a daringly sexy outfit, all after learning via a stupid note from her father that she’d been stripped of everything that made her who she was?
Rhia stomped around her apartments, hurling every curse word she’d ever heard her soldiers use, then switched over to a couple of different languages just to draw it out a bit longer. She soon found that growling and cursing weren’t enough. She yelled her frustration to the top of her lungs.
◊ ◊ ◊
“She was so grateful for your help. Really, it was quite clear by the way she slammed the
door in your face.”
RuArk turned to scold a not-so-amused Sharyn, but snapped his mouth shut at Rhia cursing loud enough to be heard through the thick door. Sharyn scowled, but didn’t say another word, choosing instead to disappear into their suite across the landing and head to her own bedroom.
As for RuArk, it had been a long time since he’d had a reason to see the humor in anything but a good fight, yet here he was smiling, then laughing outright. The sound rumbled up through his chest in a deep, full timbre. And all because of the fate the Ancestors handed him—a fate named Rhia Greysomne.
His own rooms secured, he slipped his blades beneath his pillow and burrowed into the thick, down bedding. Keen senses detected no danger as he relaxed and closed his eyes to meditate.
He’d received word that the rest of his men had slipped quietly into the City and settled into the non-descript, seldom used guest quarters on the far side of town. At dawn, Rhia would depart for Harbor Station on the errand they’d made up for her, and RuArk would visit the High Counsel to finalize the details of their plans.
After her behavior tonight, he almost wished the High Counsel was going to be the one breaking the news to the hellcat next door. Almost.
He and Rhia’s first meeting after so many seasons had been far from expected. He’d expected happiness, and light, and fun. Then again, he had enjoyed tossing the greasy fellow down the steps. In the end, it didn’t matter whether Rhia liked that he was here for her or not. He had a job to do—keep her safe and make her his.
As he drifted off, the Seeking quest he’d taken after his visit from the Grandfather flashed to the forefront of his mind.
Carried on the arms of the Wind, RuArk looked down upon the land with admiration. The beautiful, rolling hills were covered by a spectacular white, snowy blanket that sparkled like diamonds and luminescent pearls. The bright, full moon reflected off the frozen meadows. And there were so many stars. They filled the pre-dawn sky, twinkling their greeting to the Wind as It passed, carrying its companion.
Wind and Fire Page 3