by Kim Knox
She looked up to find her mother standing in the shadowed doorway. Shadowed? Her gaze flicked to the long, box-sashed windows. Thin streaks of golden-tinged clouds stood out against a darkening sky. It was late. Very late. Shit. “What’s going to happen, Mother?”
“We’ve prepared the room beneath the drawing room. Rilean knows that when he returns he must fight, not mate.” Andra’s mouth quirked upwards. “He is not happy.”
Scar’s returning smile was sour. “So when do I face him?”
“You don’t…” Her gaze slid to Tyler and Scar’s stomach dropped. “He stole you, dishonoured you. He must prove his claim.”
“That’s stupid, I—”
“No. You intervene and they have a right to kill you both.” Andra straightened. “The Caraniae believe their women are a wild and dangerous enemy who must be tamed. The chosen man must prepare to claim her and tolerate no interference. To steal a woman on her betrothal day…that takes guts.” She laughed. “Whether Tyler knew it or not.”
Andra’s face sobered. “If Rilean wins, if Tyler…” Scar held her breath, waiting for her mother to say the word… dies… but she didn’t. “The bond is broken and Rilean is free to claim you.”
Scar closed her eyes and her hold tightened on the still-sleeping man in her arms. “Why did you ever see anything in these mad men?”
Andra’s gaze softened. “I was young. And a Caraniae man can be…overwhelming.” She ran a hand over her hair and gave Scar a brief smile. “An hour, Sheehan.” And she was gone.
“I said I would fight for you.”
Tyler’s soft voice made her jump. “You were awake?”
She couldn’t look at him. If she’d just left him alone, kept her libido in check, she would’ve soon been mated and he would be looming over Rochester, safely doing his job. He would not be in her arms and about to die at the hands of a Caraniae warrior—
“I won’t die, Scar.”
A smile pulled at her mouth and she changed the subject. “Are you sure you’re pure-blood human? This telepathy thing is unnerving.”
Tyler laughed. “I need a shower. Want to make certain I am human?”
Scar rolled out of bed and held out her hand. “Yes,” she said.
The bathroom floor tiles shocked cold through her bare feet. She squeaked and darted back to the warmth of the bedroom. Tyler stared at her, a disbelieving smile pulling at his mouth. “What?” she muttered and hoped that a blush hadn’t stained her face. “My feet are sensitive to cold.”
His soft laugh had her mouth tightening. “Do you mind if I file that information away?”
“Can you just activate the shower?”
“Here.” His arm slid around her back, his other arm slipping under her knees. Scar grabbed at his neck as he lifted her and padded across the tiles to the shower unit. “I thought you’d protest.”
“No,” she murmured. His fingers were tight under her breast and she had her face pressed into his neck. His scent, his warmth, Scar breathed him in and let out a slow sigh. Her lips brushed the curve just above his clavicle. She traced her tongue along the prominent bone and grinned as he shivered.
Tyler dropped her to the raised shower tray and stepped in after her. Glass surrounded them and the air warmed. There was a telltale hum before water jetted over her body in a perfectly heated rush. Scar gasped, wiping the foaming spray from her face. The light scent of lemon filled the cubicle and the water in her mouth tasted almost like soap. She gagged. “Water.” She rubbed at her eyes, “I forgot they have that water-soap crap here.”
“You prefer air-scrubs?”
Scar stared up at him. Water plastered his dark hair to his face and ran down his smooth face in clear streaks. She stroked over his jaw, following the sluice of water over his chest. “At this minute, no.”
Tyler grinned and traced his fingers over her wet shoulder. “Shame the water doesn’t lather.” His eyes were wicked as his erection pressed slick up against her wet stomach. “Suds are fun.”
Scar bit back a smile, but then her humour faded. What he would have to face weighed heavy on her. “Are you ready for this, Tyler?”
His large hands shaped down her back to her buttocks and he nuzzled into her neck. “I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”
Scar shivered, her shoulders lifting even as a curl of tension heated her flesh. “The fight,” she murmured. “Have you ever fought a Caraniae warrior?”
Tyler’s mouth stopped its slow slide. His hands tightened, squeezing her against him, and he let out a slow breath. “I have.” The words slid over her skin. He pulled back, but a shadow lurked in his eyes. “And as you can see, I’m still alive.”
The familiar patterns of his scarring. That’s what they were, punctures from a Caraniae tail. “The scars on your back?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “A barbed tail is a vicious thing. Not like this.” He stroked the smoothness of her tail as it curved over the top of her hip. “I imagine this is much more…pleasant.”
He’d changed the subject. Scar laughed, willing the fear back, but the knot of worry still had her gut tight. “Maybe,” she said. “Though this…” She stretched up onto her toes and guided his cock between her legs. She wiggled and his eyes glazed. “…is more fun.”
“Yes.” Tyler lifted her, settling her back against the warmed ceramic wall. He caught her lower lip with a playful bite. “It is.”
She couldn’t lose him. And if she did… Horror tightened her stomach. If Rilean claimed her, would none of this, her need, her feelings for Tyler, matter?
Scar deepened the kiss, desperation spurring urgency into her lips, her tongue.
The lemon-scented water diluted her tears.
Clothes were waiting for her, laid out over one of the chairs, when Scar padded out of the bathroom. Tyler’s were there too.
He lifted the scrap of black leather and a flush burned over his cheeks. “Should have known,” he murmured.
“You’ve fought in less.”
Tyler’s gaze slid to her and a smile twisted his mouth. “I was usually alone.”
“So you say.”
His smile grew. “And I didn’t expect to get the crap beaten out of me by a woman with a very active tail.”
He ran his finger along its short length and Scar pulled in a quick breath. She whipped away from him. “Least I get to dress this time.” She snorted as she pulled on her underwear. “But the Caraniae have an obsession. If it’s a ritual, you have to be as near-naked as possible.”
“I know.” He sighed and stared at the leather scrap in his hand. “Turn around,” he said.
“Tyler, you’re naked.” Scar slapped an exposed cheek, the sound satisfying. Still, her hand stung and she winced. The man was solid muscle. “You’re putting clothes on.”
He glared at her. “I’ve worn something like this before. You are not going to see me get into it.”
Scar bit back her smile and had to cover her mouth with her hand. She held it there tight, forcing back the bubble of laughter. She took a steadying breath. “Will you…wiggle?”
“Scar…” The warning growl in his voice had her skin flaring, but it wasn’t enough to break her humour.
“You’ll have to wiggle and squirm into it, won’t you?”
Heat burned over his face. “It’s undignified,” he muttered.
“All right.” Scar fought to keep her face straight and grabbed her clothes. “I’ll put these on in the bathroom.” She flicked the leather with her fingernail. It really wouldn’t cover hardly anything. “I’ll still know you wiggled though.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
She grinned at him. “Yes,” she said and let the bathroom door close on her. Scar let out a slow breath. Reality had started to settle in and all humour left her. Tyler had fought the Caraniae before. The graphic evidence was there on his back. But the amount of damage that opponent had inflicted was frightening.
Scar forced her mind from that thought and pul
led on the smooth, single suit. Patting over the secret tabs, she smoothed it down over her stomach and hips. Her reflection caught in the wide curve of the mirror above the sink. She brushed back the wild tangle of her hair and stared at her face. Thin streaks of honeyed marble swirled over her features, but otherwise her skin looked unblemished. She ran a finger around her mouth. Yes, the healing packs they’d used earlier had done their job.
Her hand started to tremble. The thought of Rilean Harannah wouldn’t leave her alone. Coming from the First House, he would be a warrior of the highest rank, formidable, ruthless. Tyler had risen to the rank of Commander in the Corps, proof of his ability to fight. She bit her lip. He was still only human.
She opened the door and willed herself to leave the room.
Tyler paced the carpet, his face bleak.
Her heart twisted, and for an insane second, she wanted to bury her face in his chest. But he didn’t need her fear clouding him. So she coughed and waved her hand at the white silk sheet half-wrapped around his body. “That is hardly fair, Tyler.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “You really think I’m going to wander about the corridors with just a…pouch…on?”
“Most Caraniae will think you overdressed.”
He tugged at the sheet and it puddled at his feet in a soft slide of cloth. He winced. “I know, I know.” He lifted his hand. “Laugh, and you’ll be on your back so fast…”
Scar pressed her fingers hard over her lips. “That is not an incentive to stop me, Tyler.” She let out a slow breath and her gaze slid over his lithe perfection. Before she realised, she’d padded towards him, wanting to touch, to taste the heat of his skin, run her hands over the sharp definition of his arms, his chest, his stomach.
She licked her lips and smiled at the soft rumble rising from his throat. Her fingernail ran over the hard muscle of his chest, chasing a path down his stomach to the offending leather. Heat radiated off him. He smelled of lemon and his own intoxicating skin. “If there was time,” she murmured, her palm sliding over the leather to cup him. He groaned and her mouth dried. She swallowed, her eyes holding his. “Will you fight for me?”
His eyes darkened. The familiar curl of need tightened low in her pelvis and her body swayed towards his. “With my last breath.”
Satisfaction and pain warred within her. “It’s almost time.” Scar pulled back from his body and took his hand. Sanity edged down over her thoughts. She cursed her Caraniae genes for getting them into this mess, but it was too late. She couldn’t change who she was and what they had done. “We’ll take the service stairs, they lead down to the basement complex.” She twitched a smile. “Some of your dignity will remain intact.”
“Some.” He shifted his hips. “Damn thing cuts in.”
The bedroom door shut behind them. Scar tried not to panic, and pushed down her fear. She glanced down at his backside. “You definitely had to wiggle into that.”
“Scar, I still have a no laughing rule.”
“Spoil sport.”
The basement service door opened onto a long, dimly lit corridor.
Tyler squeezed the small hand that held his. How did he get himself into this mess? He willed the nerves in his stomach to calm. There was time enough yet to utilise that energy. He’d fought the Caraniae in single combat before and survived. It was how he became a commander, after all.
The cold, grey floor chilled his feet. A smile pulled at his mouth. As strong and as wild as Scar was, she still had sensitive feet.
“What are you smirking at?”
His gaze slid to her. “Can’t a man have secrets?”
Scar grinned at him. “Dressed like that? No.”
“Get this out of your system, because after this is over you and I are going to have words.”
Her smile faltered. “Tyler…”
“There you are!” Andra strode towards them, her thin-heeled boots clacking against the floor. Her gaze flicked over him and Scar’s hand tightened in his. Her sudden tension radiated up his arm. “Least they agreed to you covering some things.” Andra turned back and waved her finger. “This way.”
Two guards threw open double doors onto a square, shadow-thick arena. Sand covered the floor and it smelled almost the same as Scar’s exercise chamber on the Ioannos. At the edge of the raised lip of the arena-proper stood Kajetan at the centre of a small contingent of Caraniae. A human male, scowling, was five metres beyond them. Tyler had to assume that was Oliver Myers.
He ignored the sourness in his stomach. Yes, Oliver Myers knew exactly who he was now.
But he let that go, he let everything go except the task that was ahead of him, if he was to keep Scar.
When Rilean straightens from his ceremonial bow, I have to kill him.
“Scar.” He lifted her and her legs wrapped around his waist. He buried his face in her neck, her hair, and breathed her in, the scent of her skin and the still-lingering scent of her arousal. He was bound to her. He was hers and he would fight to prove that. “Yours,” he muttered and the surge of adrenalin fired his muscles.
Scar clung to him, her teeth biting at his shoulder. “Mine.” Her tongue laved the bite mark and he groaned. “Always.”
“Tyler…” The growling voice belonged to her father.
He let Scar slide to the ground and his hand cupped her jaw. “Always,” he said.
The sand burned hot beneath his feet as he stepped into the arena.
Rilean had yet to enter it, he was sure. The sterile air didn’t carry the familiar spiced scent of a Caraniae male. He remembered that all too well as he’d stood in almost the same position three years before.
He flexed his hands and focused on the criss-cross of grey shadow shifting over the pale sand. Alert, aware of every brush of air against his skin, he stalked the arena. He challenged Rilean so Rilean picked the time when they met in combat.
“Commander Antony Tyler.”
Rilean Harannah stepped out of the shadows. Clear green eyes fixed on Tyler and his head dropped to one side. Rilean was like all Caraniae, smoothly beautiful in combination with athletic perfection. His tail swished idly, ivory barbs caught in the swathes of white light. “You are not what I expected.” His voice was light, cool. Curious.
“And what was that?”
“I thought there would be more to the man who killed my brother.”
Chapter Eight
Tyler stopped himself from cursing. He had never known the name of the captured Caraniae who had earned him his promotion. The Corps offered prisoners-of-war a choice, fight for their freedom or languish in prison. The Corps had never claimed to be ethical.
“You know the Corps’ rules,” Tyler said.
“And yet you do not.”
Anger tightened in his stomach. Did everyone he met know about Vistern Ridge and why he’d been drummed out? He willed the anger to fade. Rilean just wanted to fuck with his head. “I’m here to fight for what belongs to me.”
Rilean’s perfect mouth quirked upwards. “You steal my betrothed and call her yours. That would take balls even for a Caraniae. For a human? Does insanity run in your family, Tyler?”
Tyler matched his smile. “Yes,” he said.
Rilean’s eyes narrowed and his body slid forward into a bow. Tyler’s blood started to pound, his body, his reflexes suddenly sharp and aware. He didn’t bow in return. He wasn’t stupid.
Rilean lifted his gaze to him and Tyler couldn’t read the emotion there.
Then his opponent straightened.
And Tyler made the decision to stay alive.
He moved with his arms loose at his sides, holding Rilean’s gaze as they slowly circled each other. The Caraniae had a weapon’s advantage. He caught it in his peripheral vision, as Rilean’s tail twitched out from behind his back. The ivory barbs gleamed.
The Caraniae, so very proud of their stupid, vicious tails.
Tyler knew that was his advantage.
He dropped, his body lunging low. The tail whipped at hi
s face. Time slowed as Tyler focused. His hands should grab…there, just below the four curving barbs. He yanked Rilean’s tail and threw the Caraniae off balance. Rilean crashed into the sand. Still gripping his tail, Tyler pinned him with his body. He only had seconds before Rilean broke free—
Tyler choked at the hand constricting his throat.
Plan B. With a wrenching twist, he broke off one of the barbs. And then another.
Rilean howled. The hand squeezing his throat slackened, but not enough to pull free. Tyler’s vision dimmed and his chest burned with the need for air. Pain seared and sweat coated his skin. His blood-covered palm slid over a third barb, yanking it out by the root.
Agony tore over Rilean’s face and he shoved Tyler from him, scrambling back. He rolled to his feet. “I should have armed you.”
“Yes, you should.”
They were almost even now. Only one barb remained on his bloody tail. Tyler wiped the blood on his chest, his side, clearing his hands of its slickness. He edged away from Rilean’s still deadly weapon and slowed his heart, controlled his breathing.
The tail lashed.
Tyler darted back, but not before the razor-tipped barb caught his forearm. It cut to the bone. Tyler staggered and Rilean grabbed his injured arm, yanking down even as his foot raked down his shin. Tyler cried out and crashed into the sand.
Rilean pressed him down, pinning Tyler’s arms, his knee hard between his shoulder blades. Tyler spat out the sand. He twisted his head to breathe and found the bloody barb at his throat. Pain rioted through his body, but he tried to focus. Through his blurred vision he thought he saw Scar at the arena’s edge, her face tense, her hands in fists at her sides. He would lose her, lose everything…
No, he belonged to Scar. He was not going to die.
“So, Commander,” Rilean’s voice rasped against his ear. “Tell me about the defence of the Vistern Ridge.”
Tyler closed his eyes.
Oh, shit.
Panic shot through Scar. Tyler. Rilean would kill—