by Nina Croft
Standing upright, they towered over her head. She moved closer and smoothed a finger down the nearest, sensing the hum of magic.
Jarrod mounted the stallion and slotted his staff into the scabbard at the side of the saddle, then reached out a hand to her.
“Come,” he said, a thread of impatience running through his voice.
Once again, she considered turning around and walking away, but somehow her feet moved toward him.
His palm was warm and hard against hers as he hauled her into the saddle. She sat sideways, but he gripped her around the waist and lifted her so she straddled the saddle in front of him. For a minute, she held herself stiff and as far from him as she could, but the heat radiat-ing out from his big body tempted her. When he draped the damp folds of his cloak around them both and tugged her back against him, she didn’t fight. He wrapped one arm around her waist but loosely, and she relaxed. As they rode away, she peered back over her shoulder at the clearing. Would she ever see Shayla again? She had to believe so, but she couldn’t help the feeling that the key to finding her was in that clearing. The Goddess had told her to bring together three witches with the mark. Shayla was the only one she knew.
Still, they had no choice but to leave now.
Jarrod urged the big stallion into the stream and walked him through the water for about a mile before clambering up the bank and heading into the forest.
Freya didn’t ask where they were going. Exhaustion tugged at her mind and body. His warmth stole over her, and the rhythmic movement of the horse finally lulled her to sleep.
~*~
When she blinked open her eyes, the moons were low in the sky.
She was warm both inside and out. Jarrod’s arm was around her, his large hand splayed across her belly. He held her tighter against his body. Even through the layers of clothing, the hardness of his erection pressed against her buttocks, and an unexpected heat uncoiled low down in her body. She stiffened instinctively.
Jarrod has passed the night in a state of almost unbearable sexual tension. In sleep, Freya had relaxed and been so soft and sweet that he hadn’t been able to resist holding her closer, breathing in the warm womanly scent of her. How had the Order denied themselves this for so long?
But her closeness came with a price. His cock was about to explode, and if she wriggled one more time, he was liable to come right here in his pants. He almost wished she would.
Instead, she went still against him, and he knew she was awake.
He’d sensed no one following them; maybe it was safe to stop for a while. They could dry their clothes and have some food before deciding what their next move should be. His mind was shying away from what he had seen in the clearing. He could hardly believe it. His daughter had used one of the Words of Power. The last time he had heard one was from Casterix’s lips as she tried to destroy their world.
The strange thing was, he was beginning to understand why Casterix had done what she had. Malachi had killed her mate, and she’d been wild with grief. Jarrod’s arm tightened around the woman in front of him. She was his. He knew he would fight to the death should Malachi try and take her from him now. But how much further would he go?
Her skin was warm beneath his palm; if he slid it up a little, he could cup her full breast. Would her nipple harden against him? At the thought, flames shot to his groin, and he bit back a groan.
He shook his head, tugged on the reins with his free hand, and the horse came to a standstill. Time to put a halt to this torture.
Jarrod slipped from the saddle. Freya stared down at him, her dark eyes confused. Reaching up, he gripped her around the waist and lifted her to the ground. She swayed, and he steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off and stepped back. He’d hoped that she would have lost some of her animosity during the sleep, but it appeared not. Despite that, when her cloak opened revealing the red silk shift of the pleasure slaves, his body reacted unconsciously.
Desire flashed along his nerve endings and gripped his cock in a sav-age wave of heat.
“I’ll see to the horse.” He had to get away from her. He’d promised not to touch her, but the need was driving him insane.
She cast him an odd look, but he ignored it and led Starfire a small distance away. Once out of sight, he released the horse to graze. Lean-ing back against the rough bark of a tree, he loosened the lacings on his pants and slipped his hand inside. His cock was rock-hard, and he gripped it in his fist, needing some sort of release. He closed his eyes and had a flashback to her kneeling before him, her pink lips around his swollen shaft.
He almost came at once, and he knew it would take mere seconds.
He tugged on his cock, feeling the heat rise. He was close, so close.
“Are you...?”
His eyes flashed open. She stood only feet away, staring at him through wide eyes. Her gaze dropped from his face to where his hand wrapped around his cock. But he couldn’t stop; the pleasure was tugging at his balls. When her gaze rose again, he held her stare as he squeezed rhythmically at his shaft.
Her mouth was parted, and her pink tongue came out to wet her lips. It was enough to send him over the edge, and his head went back as pleasure shot down his cock, through his balls, arching his spine. He turned away so she wouldn’t see him spill his seed onto the ground, but he couldn’t prevent himself. When it was over, he looked back to find her still watching him.
“You should have waited,” he said. “I wouldn’t have been long.
I’ve had a long time to perfect the process.”
“You didn’t use the other pleasure slaves.”
“I lost my taste for it.”
Not that he’d ever had a taste for anyone but her. He busied himself tidying his clothes. When he’d finished, she was standing in the same place casting him wary glances.
“I’m a man,” he said by way of explanation.
“I’m a woman, but I don’t...” She waved in the general direction of his groin.
He studied her, wondering if she had ever felt anything all those times she had knelt for the Order or in the years since she had been free of the Keep. “Have you never known desire?”
“No.” She looked away avoiding his gaze.
She’d lied. When Freya had watched him pleasure himself, something had stirred inside her, and she’d had to steady herself to prevent her feet from closing the distance between them. She’d seen his face as he came, an agony of pleasure, and heat had washed through her.
Now a pulse throbbed between her thighs.
The sensation was so new, and she realized it wasn’t only her magic that was awakening. The two things seemed to be inextricably linked together. She didn’t want to feel this way. She hated all warlocks. She’d sworn she would always hate them, but something drew her to Jarrod.
He strode past her and went to the stream, crouching down and washing his hands in the fast flowing water, before he splashed his face and ran his fingers through his short dark hair. She found herself staring at his profile, the lean contours, the chiseled cheekbones and slanted green eyes. She’d never noticed before, but he was beautiful in a hard masculine way.
“We’ll rest awhile,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve been followed—
we should be safe.”
Dawn was coming and the sky was turning violet as the suns rose.
A ray caught her, and she lifted her face to the warmth.
“Dry your things,” he said. “You’re safe with me. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”
For some reason, she trusted him. All the same, she could feel his eyes on her as she stripped off the heavy cloak and flung it over a branch to dry. She kicked off her boots and tugged down the pants, then placed them next to the cloak. It left her in the thin shift dress, but she didn’t feel self-conscious; she’d spent too much of her early life dressed like this for it to have much meaning.
Or so she thought until she looked up. His eyes had darkened; a dull flush stained th
e taut skin of his cheekbones. She followed his gaze; the deep red shift clung to her body, clearly outlining her nipples. She told herself it was the cold, but when she moved, the silk scraped against the taut peaks sending little darts of sensation through her body to settle between her thighs. Turning away, he busied himself unsaddling the horse. He rummaged in the saddlebags and tossed her a blanket. “Wrap yourself in this.” She shook it out and hugged it to her. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. She didn’t want these changes. Everything had been so clear when she hated him.
He appeared to be ignoring her now. She wished she could do the same, but her gaze was drawn to him. He’d taken off his own cloak and hung it up, but hadn’t removed anything else. And she had a sudden craving to know what he looked like beneath the thin shirt.
To learn the shape of him.
In all her life she’d never been tempted by a man. Over the years, there had been plenty who had wanted her, and her life would have been easier if she had given in, taken the protection they offered in exchange for her body. But she’d never been tempted, and besides, she’d preferred to protect herself.
Jarrod was watching her, a strange expression on his face.
“What is it?” she asked.
“For a moment, you looked at me as though you didn’t hate me.” His statement sent a jolt of awareness through her, as though her body was no longer her own. She could feel it yearning for something she didn’t understand, and fear stirred inside her.
“You’re deluded,” she snapped, but her words were a feeble defense.
He studied her for long moments. “No, I’m not.” He breathed in deeply. “You might wish to deny it, but you smell of witch. Hot, excited witch.”
She wanted desperately to deny it, but a deep yearning was building inside her. He took a step closer, and her legs trembled. Part of her needed to run, part hungered to stay right there.
She noticed again how handsome he was. Not just his face or his hair, dark with glints of rubies, but his body, with its lean, muscular grace.
He took another step, so he stood only inches away. She was tall for a woman, but he was taller. If she stared straight ahead, she was level with the open V of his white shirt where it revealed more tanned skin with a light smattering of dark hair. She found herself swaying toward him and pulled herself up short.
What was wrong with her?
She tightened her fingers around the blanket, hugging it close to her body as a slight smile flickered across his face.
“I meant what I said. I’ll kneel before you.” It took a moment for the words to filter through her brain. She had a sudden image of him on his knees before her, and a tremor ran through her body. A small gasp escaped her throat.
His eyes were half-closed, heavy lidded now, gleaming through a thick fringe of dark lashes. He reached out slowly as if scared she would bolt. His hands touched hers where they were clenched around the blanket, and he pried her fingers loose from the rough fabric. She could have held on. Or maybe she couldn’t.
He pushed the blanket from her shoulders, and it tumbled to the ground behind her, leaving her in the hated scrap of red silk.
His fingers trembled as he reached out and dipped them in the neckline of the shift, then he ripped it down the middle. The silk gave easily, baring her to his hot gaze. For long seconds, he stared at her, until her breasts tightened and heat flared in her belly. Between her thighs, a deep, insistent pulse throbbed. Freya couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it.
“You want this?” he asked.
His question startled her out of her trance. She blinked as if coming awake.
“I won’t touch you without your permission.” Even now, she could walk away. She had a feeling this would change her forever. But she’d gone too far. She gave a quick downward jerk of her head.
It was enough, and flames flickered in his eyes. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his warm breath feathering her skin.
Her own breath caught in her throat. She glanced down as his open mouth pressed against her stomach then gasped as her whole body clenched at the first touch of his warm lips.
His hands came up to hold her hips, sliding around to sink into the soft flesh of her buttocks and steady her as his mouth moved lower. His breath ruffled the curls at the base of her belly, and liquid heat pooled at her core.
He kissed the jut of her hipbone, his moist tongue stroking her skin. Freya was melting from the inside. She needed something, but she had no clue what. She hadn’t known anything could feel like this.
Her thighs clenched tightly together to intensify the feelings, and he raised his head and looked up the line of her body.
“Freya, sweetheart, open your legs.” She forced her locked muscles to relax, then shifted her feet and parted her thighs for him.
He kissed her inner thigh, licked his way up toward her core, and pressed a soft kiss against her flesh before pushing his hot, wet tongue between the folds of her sex. A low whimper caught in her throat as a jolt of pleasure shot along her nerves. She swayed, but his big hands caught her hips, steadying her, while his thumbs came around and parted the sodden folds, opening her to him. His tongue probed the entrance to her body, pushing inside, tasting her, feasting on her. He licked delicate, teasing strokes up toward the little bundle of nerves that pulsated and yearned for his touch. She jerked her hips, needing him to touch her there. Instead, he traced lazy circles around her, forcing her ever higher.
“I don’t...I can’t.” She was sobbing, her fingers gripping his short hair.He went still at the sound of her voice, and she wanted to scream.
Finally, he kissed her where she needed him, took the swollen little bud between his lips, and flicked her with his tongue.
His hands were the only things holding her up as her body spiraled out of control, exploding in a starburst of pleasure. He held her tight while waves of ripped through her, then as the tremors faded, he bit down gently.
Her head went back and she screamed, while above them, flashes of crimson lightning lit up the dawn sky.
~*~
Minutes later, he was back with his hand fisted around his own cock. It seemed to be his natural state these days. But the frustration was worth it. He’d given her pleasure—something he was sure she had never known before. He could still taste her on his lips, the salty sweet musk of her desire, and he came quickly.
He hadn’t been at all sure she would allow him to pleasure her.
But he was aware that she was changing. The magic was rising within her, and he’d sensed her need. She might not want to admit she desired him, but her body gave her away.
For the first time, he allowed himself to consider where this was going. To finally acknowledge where he wanted them to go.
In the old days, before the Laws of Segregation, witches and warlocks had been natural mates, and it had been the witches who had done the choosing. A mystical bond had grown between the two, until they were almost one being.
But things had changed. After the world was nearly destroyed, the Order had called for a cleansing. The witches were hunted down and killed, or they had vanished into the secret places of the land. The Order denied it, but many of the mated warlocks had also died in defense of their women. It had been a bad time, and Jarrod was glad he’d not been mated.
Now he sensed that was no longer true. He remembered the Goddess’s words. Had he truly chosen Freya all those years ago? And now, if there came a time for Freya to choose, would she ever choose him?
The sky had settled, and the last flickers of lightning died away.
Freya lay curled up on the blanket, her knees hugging her chest.
She hadn’t bothered dressing, and that gave him some hope.
She blinked open her eyes as he came to stand over her, her expression dazed with the lingering remnants of pleasure.
“I hate you. I hate all warlocks.”
But her tone held confusion and a hint of panic. He shrugged.
&nbs
p; What could he say? He didn’t blame her for her hatred.
Her arched brows drew together. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I need time.”
He nodded, but the need to make her completely his was growing too strong to constrain. Her nakedness didn’t help. Unbuttoning his shirt, he slid out of it, tossing it to her. “Here put this on.” He waited while she scrambled up and shrugged into the shirt, unable to drag his eyes away from the full curve of her breasts, the nipples engorged with her pleasure—pleasure he had given her. He was almost relieved when the buttons were fastened, and she was hidden from him.
“I want you,” he said. “I want you right now, but I’ll give you time.”
He took comfort from the fact that she was staring at his naked chest. She licked her lips, and he groaned. She wanted time, but she wasn’t following the rules.
“If you really want time, I suggest you stop looking at me like that.”
Shock flared in her eyes, and she looked away abruptly.
Chapter Six
Freya glanced sideways at Jarrod. He faced straight ahead and for a moment, she wished he would turn her way. For two days now, he’d kept his distance. At least mentally—traveling together, it was impossible for him to be far from her physically.
She had asked for time, but his coolness was beginning to irk her.
Jarrod hadn’t suggested they share the horse again. Instead, he walked alongside while Freya rode. Or they both walked, one on either side, keeping the horse between them.
He talked to her though, keeping the conversation impersonal, telling her about the places and things he had seen in his long life.
Of the high mountains to the north, where dragons still flew, and the wild lands beyond, where even stranger things lived. The seas to the south where the water went for as far as you could see. He told her of an Arroway before the Laws of Segregation, when the witches’ moons had shone brightly, and the whole world had bloomed.