by Amano, Mia
Amina hadn’t sensed them at all.
Apparently, Elder Okuro had.
“How did you know where to find us, half-breed?” One of the Inue, an assassin in training called Serik, stood with his longbow raised, an arrow pointed at Tarak’s accomplice. The strange dark haired man just stared back with an expression close to disdain on his pale face. “And you dare bring an outsider to the village?” Serik pulled the bowstring back, arrow cocked, ready to fire.
Elder Okuro raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, now. Let us not rush to violence. If the Warlord of the Akuna knows where we hide, we would already be dead, if he wished it. Ando, Serik, stand down.” The softness in the Elder’s voice was gone, replaced with the ring of authority.
Amina ignored Okuro’s words. In three swift steps she had crossed the clearing, a throwing dagger appearing in her hand. “What do you want, Katach?”
Tarak lowered his blade, the smile never leaving his face. Amina realized, though, that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Funny you should ask that, little Inue. I came here because of you.”
“Don’t call me that, Akuna savage.” Amina threw the knife. It thudded into the ground at Tarak’s foot. Another one appeared in her hand. His companion moved beside him in a blur of motion, his curved blade gleaming in the morning light. He unleashed a little of his killing intent and the clearing was suddenly filled with an oppressive silence.
“Amina!” Elder Okuro’s hoarse voice echoed through the stillness. The old man moved between them, seeming to forget that he now used a cane. “Put the knife down.”
For an endless moment, she was trapped by Tarak’s dark gaze. Maybe she was imagining things, but his black eyes almost seemed to glow with a trace of red.
Amina’s heart began to race, her palms becoming damp with sweat. She took in the strong lines of Tarak’s face and the elegant column of his neck. Her eyes traced down to the visible hint of his dark chest, broad and smooth and muscled, before it disappeared beneath the fabric of his robes.
Arousal swept through her.
“Amina!” Okuro’s rebuke cut through the tension, and Amina blinked, lowering the knife. Tarak gestured to his companion, who also lowered his sword.
Then Tarak Chul, Warlord of the Akuna and conqueror of the Western Borderlands, stood before Elder Okuro and executed a perfect Inue bow. “My apologies for the unexpected visit, Elder. But the Erateans are on the move, and there was no time to send word to you beforehand. We do not bear you or your people ill will. My fight is only with the Empire. I merely come to you with a proposal.”
“It seems we have an enemy in common then, Katach.” Okuro returned the bow, but his was deeper. Amina blinked. The Elder never bowed for anyone. “Allow me to gather the other Elders, and we will talk.”
“This humble soldier appreciates your time. While we wait, I need to talk to your Amina. In private.”
With a swiftness that belied his age, Okuro spun and pointed his cane at Amina. “I forbid you to kill him, Amina. The rest of you, leave this place.”
There was no doubt as to who was still boss in the hidden Chukol village.
~~~
The ancient paperberry tree had a trunk so wide it would take twenty grown men, arms fully outstretched and linked, to encircle it. Amina stood to one side, next to a mass of gnarled roots. She’d chosen this place because it was quiet and familiar. She’d spend countless hours here as a child, listening to the birdsong and wondering about the life of the tree. It was ageless and unshakeable, and her existence was merely a blink in its interminable life. It would be here long after any of them were gone.
Tarak had chosen to sit on one of the roots, which rose out of the ground like some kind of twisted, deformed limb. He had sheathed his odd, crimson blade and now sat staring at Amina with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.
She was used to concealing herself, to hiding in the shadows.
She wasn’t good at this face to face business. And she had never before encountered a man like Tarak Chul.
“What do you want from me?” she ground out, unable to hide the irritation from her voice. Because of Tarak, Elder Okuro had rebuked her, a fully trained Inue assassin, in front of the entire village. Because of Tarak, she’d lost face amongst her juniors.
“Amina.” Her name rolled off his tongue like honey, as if he were savoring it. “I finally know your name. Without that awful ikana getup, you’re actually perfect. The short hair suits you better than that terrible wig.”
Unable to help herself, Amina ran a hand through her shorn locks. She kept her hair short for convenience. She’d never bothered about her looks, never worried about what another might think, until now.
For some reason, Tarak’s compliment made her feel good. Annoyed, Amina tried to shake the feeling off. She wasn’t going to let the Warlord win her over with false praise.
Tarak stared up through the forest’s canopy, dappled light dancing across his face. “You know, the forest makes me feel claustrophobic. I need to see the open sky now and then. But apart from that, this is paradise. Your tribe have done well to keep the village hidden for so long.”
Amina reached for another throwing knife. “What’s your point, Katach? And how did you find us?”
“My friend is half Inue. He was given directions by a former teacher of his. And of course, his blood points him in the right direction. I’m merely an unwanted guest.”
“There’s a law that we’re supposed to kill outsiders. What are you planning, Tarak?”
“I want to get a certain predator off my tail. What will it take, Amina? I can’t afford to be looking over my shoulder, wondering when you’re going to slip in and try to kill me next.”
I don’t want to kill you.
The thought slipped into Amina’s head, unbidden.
She froze in shock. A rare emotion threatened to overtake her.
Regret.
Remorse.
Amina had never felt this way before.
As if sensing her indecision, Tarak rose, and came to stand before her, so close she could feel his warmth. His complex, masculine scent surrounded her. “Why are you doing the bidding of a man like Jerik Garul, Amina?”
A flare of anger coursed through her. She whipped out the small throwing dagger and pointed it at Tarak’s neck. “None of your business, Warlord.”
“Oh, but it is.” Tarak’s breathing was even, his expression composed. The way he was acting, one might think they were having a conversation about the weather, over tea. He didn’t act like a man who had a knife pointed at him. “Because last night, I was lying in bed, unable to move, paralyzed, because someone had injected me with a lethal poison. I think it’s my business to keep that kind of thing from happening again.” Tarak’s hand shot out, and before she could move, he was tracing the small scars over her cheekbones with his warm, callused fingers.
Amina shuddered. She knew she should draw away from his touch, but she was powerless to move. It was as if he had cast a spell over her.
“I’ll ask only once more, Inue. Why are you so bent on killing me?” Tarak’s obsidian eyes became hard, and his rough fingers gripped her chin, exerting just enough pressure to make her uncomfortable. “And let me tell you something while you’re thinking about whether you should answer my question.” Tarak tilted her chin upwards. Amina glared at him, tempted to stick the throwing knife in his throat.
“Aside from Kietesh and myself,” Tarak continued, “there’s now one other person who knows where your village is. My General Enkida is waiting on the northern slopes with a thousand Akuna warriors. They haven’t seen bloodshed for a while, Amina. Their urge to fight grows by the day. Anything happens to Kietesh or I, they will find this place, and they will come after you and your people. How many fully trained assassins do you have in the village these days? Fifty? One hundred?”
Amina shuddered. They were fewer than Tarak thought. She was one of only seven, and of the current generation, she had the
most kills to her name.
Against an army of Akuna warriors, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
The point of the throwing knife wavered. Amina’s hand trembled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Slowly, Amina lowered her arm. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’ve well and truly backed me into a corner, Katach. Your reputation seems to be well earned.” When she opened her eyes again, Tarak was studying her face with great curiosity. He released her.
“Why are you following the orders of an Eratean, Amina?”
In that moment, Amina felt more vulnerable than she ever had before. This strange man had come into her life and undone the tight layer of control she usually wove around herself. He’d undone her.
The bastard.
“My sister is an ikana in service to the Emperor.” Amina’s voice wavered. “Garul knows it. That’s how he has me do his bidding. He told me he’d have her sent to the whorehouses of Fortuna if I didn’t kill you.”
“I’m harder to kill than you might think.”
“Evidently.”
“But I’m glad.” Tarak encircled her slender wrist his hand. It was her knife throwing hand. “I’m glad a woman like you isn’t just a mindless mercenary. I’m glad there’s a reason you’re serving a worm like Garul.”
Amina tried to pull away, but Tarak was too strong. “But when he finds out you’re still alive, Warlord, my sister’s fate is sealed.”
“Let me do something about that. Because he’s going to find out, sooner or later.”
“What can you do? You can’t storm the capital with your army.” Amina ceased resisting as Tarak pulled her closer, their bodies meeting. Through the thin fabric of her tunic, Amina felt Tarak’s warmth. They stood there like that for a moment, as Tarak slid his other hand around her neck, his fingers trailing upwards, entangling in her short hair.
She looked up and saw that his eyes held a savage storm. In the quiet clearing, it felt as if they were the only two people on the continent. Amina became trapped in Tarak’s hungry, insistent gaze.
“What are you doing, Warlord?” she murmured, as her taut nipples brushed against his hard chest. Warmth pooled between her legs. Tarak released her wrist, his arm sliding around her back. He pulled her into him, their bodies moulding together.
Amina felt the hard length of his erection.
He felt good. He smelt good. He was warm and strong and impossible for Amina to resist.
She was losing herself in him.
“That first night, when you were in my chambers,” he growled, “I wanted you. I wanted you then, and I want you now. Will you forget your contract against me, Amina? We’d make much better lovers than enemies.”
Tarak’s confession floored her. Her resistance melted, just a little bit more. “Is seduction another tactic of yours, Katach?”
“I’ve never seduced an opponent in my life.” Tarak brought his hands down, sliding them over the curve of her back, to cup the rounded swell of her butt. He moved over the tops of her thighs, around to her pussy, where he felt the sensitive flesh through the damp fabric of her cotton pants.
Amina moaned, moving her hips back and forth.
“It appears to be a very effective tactic,” he whispered, finding the strings of her pants. He untied them with one deft hand, and the loose, cotton garment fell to her ankles, leaving Amina standing only in her thin, white undergarments.
She was losing her head. It felt as if they were trapped in some kind of surreal dream, where armies and borders and politics didn’t exist, and there was only Tarak.
Amina wanted him. So she decided, then and there, that she would, for the first time in her life, break the Inue code.
She could not kill this man.
Tarak’s fingers hooked under the hem of her tunic, lifting the garment over her head. Amina pulled it free, revealing the swell of her breasts, her nipples erect. She stood in the clearing, before the Warlord, naked and aroused.
He growled in approval, a low, primal sound. “Beautiful,” he murmured. In one swift, fluid movement, he dropped to his knees.
Amina shuddered with anticipation. Tarak put his mouth to the damp curls between her legs and kissed her there. Amina reached out and tangled her fingers in his wild, dark hair.
He sucked at her pussy, his warm tongue darting between the silken folds, teasing her clit. She rocked back and forth, pleasure flooding her core. Tarak slid his clever tongue around the sensitive nub, sending Amina to further heights of arousal. She closed her eyes, allowing waves of erotic bliss to overtake her.
In the grip of pleasure and lust, Amina’s qwi burst forth, wild and uncontrolled, surrounding them. The powerful energy of her aura whipped the dried leaves on the forest floor.
Tarak moved his tongue, faster and faster, gliding over her clit, stroking her to ecstasy. Amina cried out as he slid one of his long fingers into her pussy, stroking the sensitive flesh.
Faster.
His fingers moved. Harder, more insistent now.
His tongue stroked her.
The tight coil of bliss forming in her core built and built, as Amina shuddered. It came as small waves at first, growing bigger, more powerful, until they grew into a torrent, and pleasure washed over her; amazing, unearthly ecstasy.
Amina came, and came.
She cried out, not caring if her voice echoed through the whole damn forest. And her fighter’s aura, usually so controlled and quiet, whipped around them like a swirling dragon, joyous and unfettered.
Tarak slowed, then kissed the soft mound of her sex. He growled in satisfaction and rose, bringing his mouth to hers. His lips were warm, hungry, wanting. His tongue darted into her mouth, forceful and demanding.
Amina tasted him, and he was like spice and woodsmoke and something else, something dark and enticing. His cock pressed against her, and she slid her hand down to the strings of his dark robes, undoing the knot with nimble fingers.
Pushing the fabric aside revealed the hard, sculpted lines of his stomach muscles. Tarak Chul had an impressive warrior’s physique. Amina’s pussy throbbed. He was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen. She traced her hand down his rigid abdomen, to the vee at his hips, underneath the waistband of his loose pants. She took his cock into her hand, moving up and down its massive length.
It was Tarak’s turn to moan, a low, guttural sound.
With her other hand, Amina slid his pants down off his hips. Tarak’s erection sprang forth, its tip glistening with wetness. He kissed her again, pushing her back until she was pressed against the rough bark of the paperberry tree. Then Tarak lifted her up, and Amina wrapped her strong legs around his torso, as Tarak entered her. Gasping, Amina moved her hips back and forth, as the paperberry bark scraped her back, causing a faintly painful sensation. But pleasure overrode the pain. Tarak cupped his hands around her bare arse and thrust harder and harder, faster, grunting with lust and desire and satisfaction. He went deeper, and Amina cried out as, for the first time, she felt his qwi, released in a slow trickle, then bursting forth in a torrent, powerful and beautiful and terrifying.
It surrounded them, mingling with Amina’s aura, as they moved together, as one.
Tarak pumped his hips, and Amina rocked in response. The sensation was building again, her pleasure mounting, spreading through her as Tarak dragged her to the very edge of mindless bliss, and she wished they could stay like this forever, but she needed him to move now, to go harder, and she ground into him, needing him, digging her fingers into the hard, scarred flesh of his back, and as he cried out her voice joined his, and they orgasmed together, their twin qwis swirling and surrounding them with pure, unrestrained energy.
Amina shook, and came again, as Tarak’s seed entered her.
She became aware of everything, of the faint rustle of the breeze, and of Tarak’s qwi, slowly, gently withdrawn, as if he were untangling himself from her. She felt the rough bark of the tree trunk, under her bare
back, and the faint sheen of sweat that glistened across her face. She looked into Tarak’s eyes and saw, in their endless depths, a fierce expression. Pride. Ownership.
He had claimed her, had taken what he wanted.
And he would do it again. And again.
Tarak planted a slow, tender kiss on her forehead. “Still having second thoughts?”
Amina shook her head slowly as he withdrew from her embrace. “You live up to your reputation, Katach.” Conqueror.
He looked at her in wonder, his depthless, dark eyes drinking in her flushed features. “You didn’t tell me it was your first time.”
Amina fought the blush that was spreading across her cheeks. “No, I didn’t.”
Tarak kissed her again. “Relax, Amina. You’re mine, now.”
Gently, he lowered her to the forest floor. Amina picked up her scattered clothes and dressed, as Tarak fastened his robes. “Shall we go and meet the Elders, Ami?”
“Just like that, Tarak?”
He held out his hand, offering her a warm smile, his perfect teeth so white against the burnt honey of his skin. Her heart threatened to melt, all over again.
Amina had always prided herself on being tough, a single minded killer. She carried out her hits without question, and was able to hide away any trace of remorse. But this man somehow found the woman in her, transforming her into the shy, young teenager she had been, before she went through her training.
“Come with me,” urged Tarak. “I need you, Amina.”
Amina hesitated, studying his face for any trace of deceit or falsehood. But what Tarak showed her was sincere. She took a tentative step forward, then slid her hand into his. Tarak squeezed her hand in his strong, warm grip.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They returned to the clearing, where Okuro had organized a fire. He had arranged small, wooden stools around the fire, and bid some of the younger girls to fetch them tea. Amina saw the other two elders, Arin and Temeka Kharan, sitting on either side of Okuro.