by Nalini Singh
But although her nipples ached for his touch, he could go no higher without ripping the cuirass apart. Perhaps that was for the best. The sharpest ache centered lower.
His burning gaze rose to hers as his hands slowly journeyed to her belt. Panting softly through parted lips, she didn’t look away from his face as he whisked away her furs. Cooler air kissed the skin of her inner thighs. Though her knees were spread wide, the soft loincloth tied around her waist hung between her legs and concealed her from his sight.
But not from his fingers. His hand slipped beneath the cloth and found slick, bare flesh. Oh, sweet gods. Her head fell back, and she couldn’t stop her moan—didn’t want to stop it. By Vela’s blood, she wished it were the full moon.
A roughened growl penetrated her bliss. “You’re already drenched.”
Disbelief filled his voice. With a breathless laugh, she looked to him again. “What did you expect? I have wanted you since the maze, warrior.”
His eyes closed, as if in sudden pain. “Since the maze,” he echoed hoarsely. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”
“Then I don’t know why you’ve stopped,” she said, and his eyes flew open again.
“I won’t.” He dragged her closer and bent his head. “Not even if you beg.”
He swept aside the loincloth. Her body trembled, and she forced her muscles to steel. Then his strong teeth nipped the inside of her thigh, her hips jerked forward, and she would beg, she would beg if he didn’t bite her again.
But he didn’t bite. He gripped her hips and tilted her forward and licked. And licked again as she cried out and pulled against the leash, bucking against his mouth and thanking the goddess for sending her to find this man. This beast who growled and held her still as he devoured her.
Abruptly his head shot up and he stared past her with jutted jaw, glistening lips, and the promise of death in his eyes. But even as she realized that someone had approached the table, they must have retreated, because he dragged her closer again.
So he wouldn’t hurt her . . . and he wouldn’t share her, either. Chest heaving, she whispered, “Kavik,” and he looked up at her through thick black eyelashes as his mouth gently closed over her clitoris—and softly tugged. He tugged again, and this time she screamed his name, then begged, but not for him to stop. Never to stop, and to give her more, and harder. He licked and tugged again, and again, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She suddenly froze, her body straining, then shattered all at once when he followed another lick by thrusting his longest finger deep into her sheath.
The orgasm ripped another scream from her, her body writhing and her inner muscles clamping down on him. His satisfied groan buzzed through her flesh. Her spine arched, because now it was too much, she’d begged for more and he’d given her more than she’d been ready for.
His licks softened and slowed. His finger slid from inside her, and though he still held her knees open his touch had changed. The kisses that moved up the length of her thigh weren’t hungry, but almost reverent.
Then a soldier shouted, “If your head’s down there, little pony, she’s got you tamed already!” and Kavik shoved her off the table.
Her blood still roaring, she swung from the beam before her toes found the floor again. Her legs were as steady as pudding. Over the soldiers’ raucous laughter, she heard Kavik call for another ale.
She grinned down at him. “I didn’t count how many tugs that was, warrior. You might have to do it a second time.”
He shook his head. His skin had flushed with anger again—at her, at himself, or at the soldiers, she didn’t know. He downed the ale in a few great gulps, then without looking at her, reached past her thigh and slipped his broad thumb into her swollen sheath.
Mala gasped, her muscles tightening around him. She canted her hips to allow him deeper access, but he was already withdrawing his hand and rising from his seat.
Holding her gaze, Kavik brought his thumb to his lips and sucked her wetness from his skin. “I’ll wait until I can fuck it.”
He abruptly strode past her, abandoning the table. Mala bowed her head, biting her lips against her laughter. She didn’t know if he was leaving her to hang or just going outside to jerk the stiffness from his cock, but either way, this quest had started out very well—and Kavik was not as cold toward her now as he’d been when she’d first stepped into the inn.
Light steps approached. Mala looked over her shoulder to meet Selaq’s concerned gaze.
“Do you need to be helped down?” the innkeeper asked.
“Is Kavik returning?”
“I don’t know. He is through the back chamber, gathering his clothes.”
So he might be returning. “I’ll wait. With another ale, if you’ll bring one.”
But the next steps that neared weren’t Selaq’s or Kavik’s. Mala swung around to face one of the soldiers, a drunken brute with greedy eyes and his erection making a tentpole beneath his brocs.
His gaze rose to her bound wrists before sliding down her body. “Your beast ran off to his den. But it sounded like he warmed you up good.”
Mala recognized this one’s voice. Little pony. “He did. Now walk away from me. He had my permission. You don’t.”
The soldier scratched his bristled chin. “Problem is, you warmed up me and my men good, too. And we’re thinking it won’t be long until you’re screaming and squirming on our pricks, and liking it just as much.”
She stared at him in disbelief before glancing at the others. They didn’t look as eager to fuck as they did entertained. They would enjoy her encounter with this brute no matter the outcome. “Do you not know what I’ll do to you?”
“We’ve heard what you did to the citadel guards.” He tilted his big head to the left and eyed her wrists. “Don’t know how you’ll manage that now.”
Easily. “I warn you, soldier. You’ll lose any hand that touches me.”
Behind him, Selaq came into the common room, carrying Mala’s flagon of ale. Her eyes widened in alarm. “You soused lout, Delan! Get away from her before she takes your fool head!”
Her warning only made him more determined. His lewd sneer turned ugly. “We’ll see.”
He reached for Mala’s loincloth. By Vela, she would not even give him a chance to touch her.
Gripping the leash, she hauled herself up and snapped her booted foot into his balls. He folded over, retching. Swiftly she spun toward the table. Kavik had shoved her sword farther down its length than she could reach, but one of her knives lay close enough. She trapped the hilt between her feet and flipped upward, bringing the blade to her hands. Before her legs swung back to the ground, she’d sliced through the leash.
With an enraged roar, Delan came at her like a charging ox. The idiot. Her hands were still bound but she held a leash and a blade.
Choosing her weapon, she whipped the length of leather around his throat, leapt up onto the table and vaulted past him, yanking the leash. His feet kept going; his upper body didn’t. His legs flew out from beneath him and he landed hard on his back, choking and ripping at the leather circling his neck. Mala jumped heavily onto his chest and stomped his cock again. It wasn’t so hard now.
She glanced up. Kavik hadn’t run off to a den; he’d apparently only been donning his clothes and gathering his belongings. Arms crossed over his now-armored chest, he stood at the nearest table, watching without expression. Selaq waited behind him, her mouth agape.
Good. Mala had worked up a thirst even before this scut had attempted to touch her.
“The ale?” she asked, and gratefully took the flagon the innkeeper brought to her. Beneath her feet, a purple-faced Delan tried to heave her away. She ground the toe of her boot into his throat and didn’t step off until his eyes rolled back and his struggles ceased. Not dead. Just beaten soundly.
As if suddenly uneasy, the other soldiers looked away from her and quietly resumed their drinking. Since they weren’t going to display the same stupidity or avenge their co
mrade, Mala approached Kavik and held out her bound hands.
“Are you still showing me what it means to be tamed? We’ll need a new leash.”
“No.” He unfastened the collar from her wrists with a few sharp pulls. “I’ll return for you here when the moon is full.”
“I’m supposed to wait?”
“You will.”
The warrior hadn’t tugged her leash that well. But she said nothing and watched him go. There was still much to learn about Kavik the Beast; it could not all be done now. He had more to learn about her, too—such as how patient and stubborn she could be.
He would soon find out.
CHAPTER 5
The woman in red followed Kavik across the moors. Riding her stallion and leading three other horses, she’d appeared behind him as the midday sun slipped behind gray clouds. As the rolling hills flattened into a dank marsh, she dismounted and trailed him on foot. When evening fell, she stopped to tend to the animals and to lay out a camp. By night, she was only a small flickering fire in the distance. Though hungry and tired, he continued on until the shadows of the Weeping Forest swallowed his trail.
By midmorning she was behind him again.
And no longer at a distance. If she had been, the thick forest would have concealed her presence. Yet she followed close enough that he could hear the clomp of the horses’ hooves over the noise of the rain and the dripping leaves. Her voice floated among the occasional nicker and whinny—and at times her laugh. That night she didn’t stop to camp before he did, and set up hers so near that the glow of her fire was indistinguishable from his. Over the flames he roasted the red-crowned hopper taken with his bow in the morning. The wingless bird’s meat was tough and stringy, and he watched her skin a fat opossum while he ate. She glanced over at him once, holding up half the animal—offering it. Kavik shook his head and made his bed on the wet ground.
Though Kavik would have liked to smash the other man’s teeth for it, the measle Delan had spoken truth. It hadn’t mattered that Mala had been the one bound by the collar and leash; Kavik had been the one being tamed from the moment he’d tasted her—and by the time she’d screamed his name, he’d forgotten his rage. Instead he could only reverently kiss her sleek thigh. He’d have done anything for her, this woman he’d loved even before knowing her name. Who’d been drenched in her need even before he’d touched her.
He’d been led so easily. He’d gone exactly where she’d wanted him to go.
Never again.
But Kavik couldn’t summon more rage. Instead he went to bed with a heavy ache in his chest, and it still remained when he woke. He’d known an ache like this before, following his father’s death. Now Mala stalked his path and heralded his own.
Vela had been clever. She’d sent the one person in the world Kavik couldn’t fight. But he could stand firm. And he would have to until Mala abandoned this quest. He might lose everything. He might die. But he wouldn’t face the end tamed and on his knees.
In the morning she came to him, leading a sturdy black gelding. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep and her dark hair newly braided. The rain dripping from the trees overhead beaded on the shoulders of her red cloak before soaking in.
“This mount is yours, if you wish,” she said. “He’s sound and even-tempered.”
And of a similar build to his gray horse, as if she’d noted the size of his saddle and chosen a horse it would fit. With a nod, Kavik asked her, “Do you still want to hunt the demon tusker?”
Her lips parted and she stared at him for a long moment—she hadn’t likely expected any answer. But he couldn’t stand firm while running away.
“I do,” she finally said.
He took the gelding’s reins. “Then we will go.”
THE density of the trees prevented Mala from riding alongside Kavik, so she continued following him to the forest’s edge. Though the rain had ceased, the leaves still dripped, and she studied him from beneath her shadowed hood. He’d hardened himself again. Not with icy rage, this time. Instead he seemed filled with iron determination.
She preferred his anger. Fire could be doused. Ice could melt. But iron wasn’t so easy to bend.
Mala knew it well. Her own will and stubbornness was crafted from iron just as strong. So they would be as two hammers, striking away at each other. Neither one would break.
But if Mala’s task were simple, the reward would not be so great.
When they emerged from the forest, her gaze immediately sought the jagged peaks to the north. The demon tusker reportedly haunted those mountains, but that wasn’t why the sight drew her so powerfully. Two nights before, when she’d bedded down in the marshes, an orange glow had lit the dark clouds shrouding those peaks—the same glow that had lit the southern sky outside the window of her bedchamber at home. The Flaming Mountains of Astal. They were all that stood between Krimathe and Blackmoor. But there were no passes that allowed travelers across those treacherous, burning peaks; instead they had to trek far east or west before finding a path over the Astal range.
Mala had taken the fastest, most dangerous route, yet it had still been a two years’ journey to this land. When her quest had finished, it would be two more years before her return—and with her she would carry Vela’s promise that, when Mala most needed it, the strength of ten thousand warriors would be added to Krimathe’s own.
She had begun to hope Kavik would be one of those warriors.
Though she couldn’t imagine that he would leave Blackmoor as it was. Not as long as Lord Barin still sat on his corrupted throne and the demon tusker still fouled the waters.
Mala frowned and looked westward. This land had dark, rich soil. With so much rain, at this time of year the earth should have been bursting with growth. Instead thin, dried grasses wove a scraggly carpet across the moors. Game was scarce. She’d seen no animals grazing—only those protected behind the city and village walls. Yet Shim hadn’t given her any indication of danger near.
Scratching the stallion’s neck, she asked him, “Have you scented any revenants?” When he responded with a shake of his head, she urged him to catch up with Kavik’s mount. “Warrior, do you slay all of the revenants at the maze each time you escort a caravan through?”
His gaze searched her face, as if he wondered what had prompted her question. “I do. A few have escaped my sword. Not many.”
“So when more animals are corrupted, the new revenants congregate at that same location and wait for the next travelers?” Mala shook her head. “That is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. After forming packs, they usually roam.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth. “It is whispered that Barin has tamed them, and that he has ordered them to prevent anyone from escaping his rule. They also say the same of the demon tusker.”
Fear made people whisper many things. “Do you believe they’re under his control?”
“I believe they could be.”
So did Mala. Foul magic surrounded the warlord and his citadel. “Telani told me Barin couldn’t be killed.”
“Perhaps he can.” Jaw suddenly tight, Kavik looked ahead. “But I haven’t found a way to do it yet.”
“You’ve tried?”
“Countless times.”
Her mouth dropped open. Even Shim snorted his astonishment, his ears swiveling back as if to better listen. Kavik glanced at the stallion, then back to Mala as she asked, “What did you try?”
“Blades forged of every metal, axes and spearheads made from every stone. Knives of bone and ivory. Catapults launching boulders that required a dozen oxen to move. Fire, arrows, and poisons. At sunrise and as it sets, at midnight and midday, during the full moon and new moon and every turn in between.” The litany stopped, then he added with a faint smile, “I even tried using a charm I bought from a peddler who told me it would make Barin’s eyes boil in his head. It smelled like tusker dung.”
Mala grinned. “It probably was.”
“I attempted it anyway.”
Sh
e couldn’t imagine him being cheated by a peddler now. “How old were you?”
“It was during my eighth winter when I took my first sword to the citadel. It was my fourteenth when I left Blackmoor. I haven’t made any attempts since my return.”
And he’d returned five years ago. Since then, he’d helped people leave this land—saving them from the man he couldn’t kill.
“Why did Barin allow it?”
“I amused him. And with my every failure, those who opposed him lost heart. Everyone knew a blade didn’t cut his skin, boiling oil didn’t burn him, and that he could drink poison by the barrel.”
“When I saw the debtors leashed in his hall, I vowed upon my blood to see him dead.”
A dry laugh broke from him. “You shouldn’t have been so hasty.”
Perhaps not. But she couldn’t regret it. Instead she tried to imagine a young boy marching into that hall each day, determined to destroy a warlord who only viewed his attempts as entertainment.
And failing each time. “You lost heart, too?”
“No. I realized that I couldn’t succeed alone. So I left Blackmoor and hired out my sword until I’d earned enough to pay for my own soldiers. I returned with them five years ago.”
She’d known he was an honorable warrior. Now her admiration knew no end. “Where are your men?”
Grim memory hardened his eyes when he looked to her again. “We came upon the demon tusker. Those who weren’t killed then were later killed by Barin.”
“But not you.”
“I still amuse him.”
That couldn’t be the only reason. Men like Barin never took offenses against them lightly. No matter how Kavik had amused him as a boy, hiring an army of mercenaries to challenge his rule should have ended in Kavik’s torture or death. Instead the warlord hurt anyone who helped Kavik—and although that must be torture of a sort for Kavik, why did Barin bother?
“But why does it amuse him to hurt you? He doesn’t even hurt you, he hurts others. You wouldn’t even take water from Telani. And I didn’t expect you to take the gelding.”