Savage

by Lila Dubois

  Anleeh slid his hand to the inside of Siara’s thigh.

  Higher and louder the woman’s cries grew, undercut by the warrior’s low continuous growl as he buried his head in his woman’s neck and thrust harder and faster.

  She screamed as she climaxed, and his low throat growl as he took the final thrusts set the hair of the watchers standing on end.

  The warrior lifted his woman, cock still buried in her, and staggered to a mound of furs near where Siara and Anleeh lay. Around the Hall people turned to their lovers, urgency in their touches, arousal spiked by the display.

  Anleeh bent to Siara’s ear, prepared to ask if she’d enjoyed the display, when another spoke.

  “The title of wildest beast goes to your woman, Henrick.”

  “There is none like my Lorna,” the warrior murmured sleepily, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “You think that display claimed you the title of possessing the wildest vilkat?” Anleeh made sure his question was loud enough to be heard by the whole Hall. Siara stiffened against him.

  The warrior, Henrick, turned his head where it lay on his lover’s exposed breasts. “I do.”

  “I say you are wrong. I say my woman’s beast is the fiercest.” Siara’s fingernails dug into his wrist and he felt her stiffen against him.

  “She is not even of Den.” Henrick countered.

  “Did you not hear what she did to Leik?” Anleeh asked, stroking Siara’s thigh. Henrick’s eyes darted to the movement of Anleeh’s hand before he answered.

  “Aye, but it is merely talk, gossip about the stranger.” He emphasized the last word.

  Ignoring that petty insult, Anleeh replied. “My woman’s beast is fierce.”

  “Prove it,” Henrick snarled, sitting up and pulling his woman against him.

  Anleeh smiled. Wrapping his arm around Siara’s waist, he raised them both to their feet. He could imagine her doubt and unease, but beneath it, he could feel her beast stretching to get out, wanting to be displayed before these people, to prove herself the most fierce.

  Anleeh turned Siara, and for a brief moment allowed their eyes to meet, acknowledging her fear and worry, but demanding her submission. Siara’s eyelids lowered.

  “Wrists.” Siara held her arms out and Anleeh grabbed her wrists, forcing them behind her and bracing them at the small of her back with one hand, then bending her backward, knowing how vulnerable she would feel.

  He bent his head to her neck and breathed against her skin. Holding her there, body bent by his will, he did nothing but breathe. Calling his beast, he loosened the chain that held it, allowing it to climb up inside his chest, expanding into his skin, into the air he exhaled. He feared his beast, but this experience would bind her tighter to him.

  Siara shuddered, turning her head to the side and panting. His bare arm against her naked back allowed his beast to roll and scratch along her skin. His beast snarled with satisfaction when hers stretched fully awake.

  Anleeh continued breathing against her neck, aware of the silent watchers. Within Siara, her beast grew more and more agitated, wanting to respond to the call of Anleeh’s beast, but held still by Siara’s obedience, her body kept immobile in his grip.

  Taking a deep breath Anleeh tilted his head, letting his breath wash over her parted lips.

  With a snarl, a deep true snarl of the beast, Siara ripped her hands from Anleeh’s grip, arms going around his back, fingers clawing into his tunic and ripping it, parting it at the seams.

  With his chest and back bared Siara raked her nails over him, marking him before she fisted a hand in his hair, her teeth moving in to mark his shoulder. Anleeh pushed her away, forcing her to turn as he pulled a knife from his boot. As she thrashed, he slid a hand beneath the laces of her top, pulling them away from her body before he slit them with the knife. Throwing the knife to the side Anleeh jerked her back against his chest, holding her there.

  Siara’s head tipped back against his shoulder and her hands came up, cupping her breasts, rolling the nipples. When he continued to simply hold her, Siara snarled, grabbed his hands and forced them to her breasts, demanding that he pleasure her. Grabbing the full mounds and squeezing hard, he released the bone pin, allowing her bottom garment to fall to the floor, sliding his hand over the pelt of hair protecting her sex.

  She undulated in his hold, her snarls turning to low growls and mewls.

  Anleeh released her, holding his hands away from his body so all would know that what she did was of her own will, the will of her beast. Siara turned and dropped to her knees. Her fingers curled into the waistband over his hips. Siara set her lips to the soft flesh below his belly button, her breath hot against his skin. Her tongue traced a single long path up his flat, hard stomach, venturing as far north as it could. Anleeh leaned his head back, curling hands in her dark tresses, knowing what an exotic pair they made, her dark hair an arousing contrast against the pale flesh of his belly.

  She nipped at his belly button and then fucked the indent with her tongue. Her hands began to rub his cock through his leggings and Anleeh loosened his control enough to let a snarl slip out. Her fingers picked apart the lacings and opened the placard, freeing his cock, immediately cupping it with warm, greedy hands.

  With more skill than that first night, Siara took him into her mouth, sucking him down. Anleeh dimly heard the sounds of envy that echoed from the men as her dark head bobbed up and down the hard length of his shaft.

  Wrapping a fist more securely in her hair, Anleeh coaxed her head away, and she released his cock with a loud pop. Her fingers crawled up his chest as she started to rise, her lips pressing fervent open-mouthed kisses to his chest, stopping to suck each of his nipples, then licking the line of this throat before pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw.

  Her behavior was coaxing, her beast acknowledging his dominance, persuading him to have her, fuck her, pleasure her.

  Siara rested her parted lips on his cheek and breathed, letting him taste her wild submission. She blended her beast with her obedience; her passion with control, and that pushed him over the edge.

  With a roar, Anleeh grabbed her, one arm around her thighs the other around her back, lifting her and then bearing her down onto the furs. Siara snarled in triumph, making a mockery of her submission, as Anleeh forced her legs wide.

  He caged her, hands beside her head, looming over her, making sure she could see and feel the breadth of his body above hers. She could not get away, and he would do with her as he pleased. Her eyelids lowered and raised as she lifted her hips. Anleeh reached down pressing his hand to her belly, holding her still to receive his cock. When he thrust into her, her body tight, the angle ensuring that she felt every inch, Siara screamed, her hands coming up, nails raking over his arms.

  Anleeh pressed his face down, feeling her breasts jiggle against his chest as his thrusts rocked her body. Again and again he thrust into her, burying himself deep and then retreating only to fill the void once more.

  She was close, he could feel it, knew from the way her beast purred to his.

  As her orgasm peaked, she lifted herself, sinking her teeth into his shoulder, marking him, claiming him, even as he fucked her. Now each thrust raked her teeth against his shoulder, and the small animal pain sent him over the edge. Wrapping a hand over her neck, Anleeh forced her head down and to the side, biting the soft skin where shoulder met neck. She screamed, the sound both animal and human, and his beast roared with pleasure. Anleeh no longer knew if the sound was only in his mind or if his beast’s roar of pleasure echoed through the hall.

  He thrust a final time, for the first time spilled his seed deep into her body, collapsing against her as the Hall watched in envious silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How is it decided who works the farms?” Siara, elbow deep in sticky bread dough, puffed out the question as she inexpertly kneaded the massive pasty mound of dough.

  “Those who are farmers work the farms.”

  A
piece of hair fell into Siara’s face. Gritting her teeth she ignored the irritating tickle, concentrating on her kneading as she formulated the correct questions. The women who worked in the kitchen were unlike any of the other women. Unmarried, and as far as Siara could tell, unmated, they lived together in a cabin along with the women who oversaw many of the functional production elements of the Clan.

  In her writings Siara had stared to referring to them as Mistresses. Mistress of the Kitchen, of the Ale House, Honey House, Tanning House, and so on. There were male servants that worked in all these places, and warriors who used the tanning house, but the day-to-day maintenance fell to this special class of women.

  Anleeh helped her secure an interview with several of them, taking her to the tanning and ale houses, walking beside her as the women explained, in short, hard sentences, how the products were created and who had use of the facilities.

  Siara had been less than satisfied with those episodes and, on Anleeh’s advice, volunteered to assist in the kitchen of the Hall.

  Pull, twist, smack. Pull, twist, smack. The regular beats of her kneading were matched by the rhythmic thunk of the cook’s knife into the pieces of venison she was chopping for stew.

  “How does one become a farmer?” Perhaps if she started with the basics…

  The blade’s thunking paused, then started again. “One is born a farmer, and dies a farmer.”

  “But what if one does not want to be a farmer?”

  “That is what you were born to.”

  “Is the life you were born into the life you must always lead?”

  “Change is hard in Den.”

  Siara sighed in satisfaction; this was the longest conversation exchange they’d had all day. “You speak as if from experience.”

  “Yes,” The reply was short and hard, but without anger, so Siara continued.

  “What were you born as?”

  “A warrior’s daughter.”

  “Are all warriors’ daughters born to work in the kitchen?”

  “No, they are born to be the wives of warriors.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Before the cook could answer a rich male voice flooded the kitchen. “It smells wonderful in here, and look, I see something quite tasty I would like to eat.”

  Anleeh’s hands slid over Siara’s hips, making it quite clear it was not the bread she kneaded he would like to devour. She wore a borrowed set of furs over her breasts, and at the brush of his hand, her nipples peaked into the soft fur.

  Teeth grazed her neck below her ear and nipped at the edge of her jaw.

  “Are you ready to leave, lover?” he whispered.

  Siara nodded softly and withdrew her hands from the ball of dough. Holding them away from her sides, she dunked them in the tub of wash water. Anleeh’s hands plunged in beside hers, his strong fingers efficiently rubbing the sticky dough from her skin.

  There was intimacy, unexpected and sweet, in having their hands hidden in the dark cool water together. He felt it too, for his fingers began to move slower, rubbing for the pleasure of touching her, his fingers sliding between hers, dancing up the inside of her wrists to play along the crease of her elbow.

  Once she was clean, Anleeh helped her dry her arms, working a soft cloth carefully over her skin, his gaze lowered, focused on his task, freeing her to examine his face. As he separated her fingers to dry between each, she pondered the jut of his cheekbones and the simple line of his jaw. He’d been losing weight since they got here and it showed in his face. What golden color the sunlit Great City had put in his face was leeched away by this cool world, and his brows and eyelashes stood out in stark relief.

  Could his mother be right? Did he love her?

  Siara had spent so long wanting him from the shadows that the possibility was almost overwhelming. At first it had been safe to long for him, for as one of the Zinahs he was untouchable. But now that his mother had mentioned it, Siara could not help but hope for a life with him beyond this mission.

  “There are things we must speak on,” he murmured, rubbing the drying cloth over her palm.

  “Yes.” She had yet to tell him of the meeting with his mother.

  “About last night…”

  Siara’s cheeks reddened as a hot flush rolled down her body, her nipples and sex coming alive. She lowered her gaze from his face to watch him caress her now dry hands.

  “I did not plan that, nor did I intend to ever display you that way,” he said.

  “I am fine.”

  “Are you truly?” He tilted her chin up.

  “I am.”

  “When I first raised you to your feet, I could feel the reluctance in your body, yet you obeyed.”

  “Is that not what you taught me to do?”

  His mouth kicked up in a half smile, but there was no humor or joy in it. “Your training, of course.” He started to pull away.

  “Nay, Anleeh, listen to me.” Siara curled her hands over his wrists, holding him in place. “The training taught me to trust you, to trust that I would find pleasure in your touch, and be protected by it.” She turned so they were face-to-face. “Would I have chosen to go naked before the Hall? No, but I did, because you taught me not to fear it, to sink into your control and protection.”

  Anleeh leaned his forehead against hers. “I meant to comfort you for any hurt last night might have caused, not ask you to comfort me.”

  “I like comforting you,” Siara whispered, her words puffing against his cheeks. “May I confess something?”

  “Of course.”

  “I, well, I was—hmmm I seem to be having trouble admitting this.”

  “You were aroused by it. The same as you were aroused by being spanked when others watched.”

  “I was. Knowing that I was so vulnerable, being watched, but protected by you from everyone but you. I liked knowing that we might make them jealous.” Knowing that you were mine, and I proved it before one and all, staking my claim to you.

  “You were gorgeous, powerful, so sexual and sensual…” His cream words slid over her, describing a woman that only existed in his arms.

  “Well, um, indeed.”

  He laughed, hugging her to his chest.

  Siara smiled and laid her cheek against his shoulder. She looked up just in time to see the cook staring at them, her previously impassive face creased with deep mourning and sadness.

  “Anleeh-Ori?” the young solider stopped before them, twitching slightly with nerves. He was a huge, muscle-bound brute of a boy, and his face seemed painfully young atop all that bulk.

  “Yes, Leriv?”

  “I wished to speak with you, about, about…” His eyes strayed to Siara.

  “Training?” Anleeh hazarded.

  “Training.”

  There was a long pause. Siara was sublimely unaware of the young man’s regard as she carefully turned the pages of one of her little books, quill in hand to make corrections. Anleeh lounged beside her, a tankard of Den’s sweet honey-fermented ale in one hand. They’d retired to a pad of furs after the evening meal, the atmosphere much quieter and more relaxed than the high frivolity and sexuality of last night.

  Siara was gorgeous in her new furs.

  It had taken him longer than he would have liked to catch enough snow rabbits to complete the ensemble. Unlike her first garment, which had been a single layer of fur, meaning that the tanned underside was outside, Anleeh had caught enough rabbits that this garment was soft fur inside and out.

  His mother had helped him plan and sew it. Rather than two pieces, this was one, a short dress that fell to mid thigh. The inner curves of her breasts were exposed by the deeply cut neckline. A multitude of carved bone runes, precious beads, and a few small white feathers, dangled from the V of the neckline. The top left her shoulders and back bare, fastening in a single strap behind her neck.

  Beaded straps with dangling feathers and bits of bone were wrapped around her right bicep and wrist, her left arm temptingly bare. The anklets
he’s promised her on their journey were wrapped around her delicate ankles.

  More of the rune carvings, feathers and bone were attached to the back of the neck strap, left to dangle against her bare back, flirting with the dip of her spine.

  In the past hour, Anleeh had discovered a previously unknown fetish for shoulder blades.

  Siara shifted, the decorative and protective bits on her garment clicked together softly, and the boy made a small noise.

  Poor thing. He was too young to have been in the Hall last night, so would not have seen their display, only heard of it. The facts themselves were fantastic enough, never mind whatever embellishments had been added as the tale was passed along.

  “Speak your question or go.”

  “I, uh, thank you for training us, Anleeh-Ori.” He stumbled away before Anleeh could respond.

  “Who should I speak with to learn more about the class system?” Siara asked as the boy retreated.

  “Den doesn’t have a class system.”

  Siara whipped her head around to look at him, hair shimmering beautifully against the white furs. He wondered if she’d figured out that wearing all white fur was a mark reserved for the ruling family.

  “There most certainly is. At first I thought it was just normal social stratification, but I have learned that almost no one lives a life different than the one they were born to, and people are trained their whole life to serve that function.

  “Boys who were born into warrior rank families play games that require strength and mental acuity, those who are born to be farmers play games that emphasize cooperation. They are being groomed.”

  “You are correct,” he admitted with some surprise.

  “You just said that Den doesn’t have a class system.” She arched her brows and Anleeh glowered at her. Bad enough that she was right, no need to rub it in.

  “I do not think it is as intensive as you may believe, but I will admit that your arguments and points are valid.”

  “Of course they are valid, though it is clear from your attitude that none here, except maybe your mother, has enough perspective about their own society to offer useful insight.”