Sword's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  She wanted to sink into the smallest corner and disappear.

  Why is this so hard?

  Why couldn’t she just look Jorrin in the eye and tell him she loved him?

  “Dammit. Just tell me what you’re thinking.” Since you won’t let me sense it, was implied. He slammed the wall with the palm of his hand.

  She flinched, but he still didn’t move away from her.

  “Don’t sink into yourself. Let me in.” His tone weakened.

  Jorrin was begging.

  Again, she was cutting him deeply.

  Her heart ached and Cera chided herself for her cowardice.

  Say something.

  Voice gone, tears just coursed down her cheeks.

  Nothing but silence remained for minutes that felt like hours.

  Jorrin sucked in a breath, his shoulders slumped, blue eyes misty. “Fine. If you can convince me I mean nothing to you I’ll drop it. I promise I’ll never bring it up again. Tell me you don’t love me, Cera and I’ll leave. You can go to Tarvis with my father, Hadrian and Avery. I can’t take this anymore.”

  ****

  What’s happening?

  This was supposed to be it; now was time to lay it all on the line.

  He’d gone after her.

  Why wasn’t she cooperating?

  Cera was shutting him out again and her tears were killing him. Jorrin’s magic throbbed with her pain, her worry, but her mind was still closed to him. She’d never accept him. Never let him love her.

  He had to stop it all.

  He needed to let her go.

  Maybe she didn’t care about him after all.

  Maybe his instincts had been wrong, but his mind and heart rejected that because it just hurt too much.

  Even standing there with her eyes closed and tears running down her cheeks, her beauty stunned him, the waves of her dark red hair floating loose around her shoulders. Her high cheekbones flushed with color and wet with tears, her kissable lips begging for him.

  Jorrin stared, heart pounding, aching and wanting.

  Why couldn’t he have her?

  Cera’s chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. She leaned into him, reaching up to press her lips to his.

  His emotions surged.

  What was happening?

  She wouldn’t talk to him, but she would kiss him?

  Don’t question it, idiot.

  Jorrin wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest. She snaked her arms around his neck and nestled closer. A tremor shot down his spine, and Cera shook in his arms.

  On a groan, he fused their mouths, cupping the back of her neck. Sensing her opening for him in a way she hadn’t in their previous kisses, Jorrin moaned when she pushed her tongue into his mouth.

  Melding, mating, dancing, Cera kissed him hard, he could feel her desperation with his lips and his magic. Her mind was open to him as she slipped into passion, and Jorrin fought for control as he fell into desire for her, her emotions mixing with his and amplifying feelings.

  His magic throbbed along with his erection.

  He needed her.

  Needed inside her.

  She pushed even closer, flattening her full breasts into his chest, and Jorrin shoved her against the wall, deepening their kiss even more. He swallowed her moan as they were melded, chest to breasts, hips to hips.

  He ground against her. Cera rocked right back, and Jorrin was about to lose it. It took all his self-control not rip her breeches down and take her.

  Urging her away from the wall, he mapped her back with his hands, cupping her bottom and raising her, pulling her against his arousal.

  She moaned into his mouth.

  They fell onto the pile of hay in a tangle of limbs, Cera landing on top of him.

  Jorrin yanked her down as she kissed him again, her mouth searing his as she explored and plundered as much as he did.

  He pulled her onto his chest, burying his hands in the red curls flowing down her back.

  She straddled him, their bodies touching in all the right places, but they had far too many clothes on.

  The pressure of her body rocking on his was exquisite torture, but not nearly enough.

  Jorrin kissed her harder as she caressed his face.

  Fingers fumbling, he ripped at the ties on her jerkin.

  Cera helped him, wiggling out of the worn leather. It fell to the planked wooden floor next to the pile of hay. She gasped when he cupped her full breasts through the soft fabric of her white linen tunic.

  Jorrin teased her nipples to hard peaks, but it wasn’t enough. He needed her in his hands, in his mouth.

  Cera froze at the first brush of his fingers across the soft skin of her bare stomach.

  Their eyes locked, making his magic ache with the intensity of the emotion between them. They both panted hard, and Jorrin had to resist the urge, pull her down for another kiss.

  Her hair was pleasantly mussed; gray eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks rosy red and her lips swollen from their kisses

  She swallowed and trembled.

  He could feel her nerves. His stomach fluttered.

  She’s never done this before.

  It made sense she was a virgin. A noble, duke’s daughter, the heir to a Province.

  He’d even tasted the innocence in their first kiss, which seemed ages ago.

  Yet after the ferocity with which she’d kissed him when he’d taught her to deepen her bond with Trikser, it hadn’t crossed Jorrin’s mind again.

  Not to mention her fervency now, her un-shy touches, the way she rubbed her body against his. Rocking in his lap, shoving her hips against his.

  She wanted him. As much as he wanted her. Nervousness aside, she was willing to give him her innocence.

  Jorrin’s heart flipped, but he wasn’t taking her for the first time on a pile of hay in a barn. “Cera, we don’t have to—”

  Leaning down, she pressed her mouth to his before he could finish his statement.

  Ordering himself to calm down, and slow down, Jorrin made the kiss tender and languorous, trying to show her the love he’d yet to tell her he had for her.

  He wrapped his arms around her, reveling in how it felt to hold her.

  Good. Right. Perfect.

  When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against hers, flashing a smile.

  She promptly broke into a sob, clinging to him.

  Not the reaction he’d expected, but Jorrin couldn’t let her go. As he pulled her closer, she snuggled into his chest, lying down with him on the hay.

  Cera wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his neck.

  He rested his cheek against her soft hair, inhaling the sweet floral scent. “Cera?” he whispered when she quieted. Jorrin’s heart fluttered when she met his eyes, her cheeks stained, expression desperate. “What’s wrong?” Gently, he cupped her face and thumbed away her tears.

  Would she pull away from him again, even though she was letting him hold her?

  His magic told him she was still in turmoil; he didn’t want to push her.

  “I love you,” Cera whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip around him as if she dreaded his response.

  Jorrin’s heart tripped over itself.

  What did she just say?

  He grinned so hard his face hurt. He’d remember this moment, always. “I know.”

  Cera gasped. “You know?”

  He nodded.

  “You know?” Her voice went up an octave.

  Jorrin bit his lip to keep from laughing. His magic tingled as he felt the rise of her ire. He blinked twice, fighting for a straight face.

  “Do you have any idea how hard that was for me?” She poked him in the chest, glaring.

  “Ow. That really hurt.” He batted her hand away. “All right, all right . . . don’t look at me like that, I was playing.”

  Her gaze bore into his.

  Jor
rin took a breath and cupped her face, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. “I love you, too, Ceralda Ryhan,” he whispered against her lips.

  She shoved her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

  He trembled as he felt her love through his magic. It washed over him like waves of pleasure, threatening to snap his control all over again. Jorrin wanted to slip inside her and lose himself in her sweet body.

  Cera was his.

  I love you, he thought-sent, letting her feel his longing and desire for her.

  Her hands tugged his tunic out of his breeches and Jorrin let her, lifting his hips to assist her. Soon it was over his head and off. Cera’s soft hands caressed his bare skin, tracing each line of his chest and abdomen, setting him on fire from the inside out. His erection threatened to punch through his breeches, he was so hard.

  Gripping her hands, he brought her knuckles to his mouth and lavished kisses over them.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered, gorgeous gray eyes wide.

  “I love when you touch me, but you’re killing me.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not taking your innocence on a pile of hay.”

  Blushing scarlet, Cera averted her eyes. “How did you know?”

  He guided her face again to his and smiled. “I’m honored, you know. That you would pick me.”

  “I love you.”

  Jorrin kissed her. “I love you, too.”

  “Then why—”

  “Not here. Not tonight, but I do want you. I need you more than I need to breathe.”

  Cera nodded, her cheeks an even more adorable shade of red.

  I want you, too. The words of her thought-send tickled his mind, because his silly love wasn’t brave enough to voice them.

  His magic absorbed her longing, her desire, and Jorrin suppressed a groan. His erection didn’t have a problem with their location, but his sense of honor did.

  “Come here.” He closed his eyes and drew her to his bare chest.

  She sighed and buried her face against his neck, tightening her arm across him as they settled into the hay pile.

  Telling her he loved her lifted a huge weight.

  The fact she loved him, and had actually told him, was the sweetening on top of it all.

  “What do we do now?” Cera whispered.

  His magic warmed his body as fear of what was to come started to creep in on them. It was in her expression as he met her gray eyes.

  Jorrin squeezed her against him. He refused to let anything ruin this moment for them. “Nothing’s changed, love. First and foremost, we still have a job to do. We’ll figure out the rest along the way, I guess.” He liked the sound of the endearment and the smile she flashed him. His heart quickened all over again.

  “Thank you, Jorrin.”

  “What for?”

  Cera kissed him in answer.

  They’d face Varthan and Tarvis in the morning when they didn’t have a choice.

  Tonight was his to savor with the woman he loved.

  Jorrin deepened the kiss and pulled her closer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lord Varthan cursed as he threw Lucan to the ground. “Do it again.”

  Dagonet stepped forward to help him to his feet, but their master’s glare stopped him cold.

  Lucan bowed his head as he scrambled upright. “We all need to put magical force in. Equally.” Voice just above a whisper, he took a breath and tried to banish the shaking.

  “Then. Do it. Now,” Lord Varthan commanded.

  Athas opened his mouth to speak, but one look from their master changed his mind. He sneered at Lucan.

  Dagonet bowed to appease their master, and Lord Varthan’s chest heaved with a breath. “We shall try again, my lord,” the shade said, his sharp hazel eyes on the older man.

  The lord growled, but nodded brusquely and clenched his fists at his sides.

  Leave it to Dagonet to use magic on Lord Varthan and not get caught. He’d used a small spell; Lucan had sensed it and their master had calmed.

  He was envious of the older boy’s confidence, but shifting moods was one of Dagonet’s gifts.

  Since Lord Varthan was aware of that, why didn’t he ever suspect Dagonet used it on him?

  Perhaps their master was too arrogant to realize the other shade would have the courage to do so.

  Resisting the urge to incline his head to Dagonet for his attempt at assistance, Lucan remembered the older boy wasn’t really an ally. He was the most polite and reserved of the shades, but none of them could be trusted. Growing up at the shade compound told him that, if nothing else.

  He took a deep breath and glanced around at the other three.

  Athas sneered again and Markus looked indifferent, his pale blue eyes studying the castle. Dagonet was looking at Lucan, expression curious.

  Lucan ignored Athas and made eye contact with Dagonet.

  The four of them joined hands, and Lord Varthan took a step backward, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

  Lucan averted his eyes and sighed.

  How many bruises would he have before this was over?

  The lord always singled him out in his rage. He’d barely escaped broken bones so far. Lucan had Dagonet to thank for that. There were many times he sensed the presence of magic when he was being abused. His master had none.

  He cast at the protection spell, feeling his body warm as he called upon his magic. He didn’t really want to break through it, but Lucan pushed that feeling away, lest the others sense it. Athas would jump at the chance to see him disciplined by Lord Varthan.

  The sooner they broke through the spell, the better. They’d been trying for three days, and the effort was exhausting.

  Lucan felt the other shades put forth their magical energies, and the sweat beaded on his brow as they were all met with resistance. His body heated even more, his limbs started to glow.

  Dagonet was also glowing brightly beside him.

  The master lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

  She was getting weaker.

  With regret, Lucan pushed further, adding more power, and feeling the other shades join him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated harder.

  He thought of nothing but the spell collapsing, picturing a bubble popping in his mind, the image helping him to center his power surge.

  The resistance faltered; it wouldn’t be long now.

  He shoved energy against the center of the spell as hard as he could. His whole body was radiant, alight, and sweat poured down his face on its way to his collar.

  Triumph from the other shades rushed him as they recognized weakness in the spell.

  One deep breath, then another.

  They had won.

  The spell collapsed.

  Lucan dropped Dagonet’s hand before his regret was too obvious.

  It’s no victory.

  Athas turned and informed their master that it was done.

  Biting his bottom lip, Lucan tried to stand taller.

  The next step was even worse. Horrible.

  All his fault.

  “Well done. Mount up. Be ready for anything.” Lord Varthan swung himself up onto his black stallion.

  Lucan grimaced.

  Any expression of praise from the master was few and far between, but he was rarely proud of his accomplishments anyway.

  “Swords will be waiting for us,” the lord said.

  The other three shades nodded collectively and unsheathed their weapons.

  Lucan shuddered. He would be the cause of people being killed.

  Again.

  Guilt made his eyes smart and he swallowed back tears.

  He was too old to cry.

  His gut was hard, like he’d eaten rocks, but his stomach roiled. He fought the urge to lose his breakfast, gripping his horse’s reins as he planted his rear in the saddle.

  His master was always going around killing people.

&n
bsp; “Lucan, stay close to me,” Lord Varthan growled, drawing his own sword.

  They didn’t meet resistance until they were well inside the castle’s gates.

  Lord Varthan sneered at Lord Everett Lenore.

  The duke lead his men himself.

  Lucan shuddered as Lord Varthan let out a malicious laugh. He did a quick head count. Lord Lenore had twelve men with him. No doubt the men would totally underestimate the shades. He gulped.

  “Kill them all, except Lenore,” his master barked.

  The three shades gave curt nods and attacked.

  Lord Varthan pulled his horse up against the inner wall on the right side of the courtyard, and Lucan stayed tight behind him, as usual.

  His master laughed again as they both saw Markus lift a man by his neck with his mind, using his magic to paralyze him and then running him through with his sword.

  Tears threatened, and Lucan panted to keep them at bay.

  “Varthan, I will kill you!” Lord Everett Lenore ran toward them, sword drawn.

  “Lucan.” His master’s tone was deceptively calm.

  Lucan lifted a hand, saying a spellword silently.

  The Duke of Tarvis flew backwards, landing hard on his rear end, legs flying up. The lord was unhurt, but his eyes were wide and he seemed frozen for a moment, making no move to scramble up.

  “You’ve always been pathetic, Lenore,” Lord Varthan snarled.

  “You’re a dead man, Varthan,” the duke retorted, righting himself.

  His master gave another hearty laugh and jumped down from his horse, pointing his sword.

  A tremor started down Lucan’s spine, radiating across his back until his whole body shook; even his teeth rattled. He struggled for breath.

  He couldn’t watch his master kill the duke.

  Not three feet from him.

  Helpless.

  All my magic and I can do nothing.

  Lucan swallowed a whimper.

  “Come at me, Lenore. I’ll show you who’s a dead man. Lucan, stay where you are.” Lord Varthan didn’t look at him. “Stay out of the fight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lucan croaked, grasping the reins of the lord’s stallion.

  ****

  Everett growled as he charged Varthan. He’d kill the bastard.