"You must get lonely with your lover so long away. I'm lonely. Malthus sipped from his glass.
Merissa gave him a doubting look. You have Beth."
He shook his head with a small smile. Merissa, you're too innocent for words."
She drew back, frowning. What do you mean?"
"Please don't take this wrong. Beth is the village slut."
"Beth? I can hardly believe that."
"I didn't believe it myself at first. Don't take my word for it. Ask Shalto or Torquil or Oswyl. They've all been with her. They're coming and going from her home at all times of the day and night. But don't condemn her, Merissa. It is after all the way of the wild cousins."
Merissa flushed and stared at her hands. Not like that, it isn't. The wild cousins ... well, that's more like unmarried serial monogamy. And it isn't generally practiced among the upper classes."
"It's the reason I insisted on building my home so far from the main compound. I didn't want the girls exposed to it."
"I never knew."
"Of course you didn't. You're too innocent, Merissa. Too trusting."
"I'm scarcely innocent. I've had a child out of wedlock."
"What did you say your lover's name was? If he rides with the Rowdies, I might have met him."
A cautious light came into Merissa's eyes. I didn't."
He reached out and brushed his fingers along her arm.
Merissa stiffened as he touched her. Please don't."
Malthus withdrew his hands. I meant no offense. Only that you're very lovely and I am very lonely. It's been what? You said yesterday, three years I think? How can you still wait for him?"
"Because I will wait for him until I die. Merissa picked up Darmyk, fleeing in such haste that she grabbed only the basket, leaving Malthus with the wine, glasses, and blanket.
Malthus poured another glass of wine and knocked the contents down. His fangs started to descend and he focused inward to send them back into their sheaths in his mouth. He wanted to sink them into Merissa, but he would have to make do with Beth.
"Or until he dies? he said so softly under his breath that even Merissa's keen lycan hearing could not pick out the words.
If the sire was Isranon, then his death would definitely be sooner than Merissa could dream: both Queen Tomyrilen and the God-Queen Galee of Minnoras had placed bounties upon Isranon's head and that of Lord Dawnreturning, as had the Sacred King of Rowanhart. Assassins were coming at Isranon from all directions. It was only a matter of time before one of them killed him. Malthus wished he had a way to lure him up here so that the kill would be his. No matter. Even if he had a lure, Isranon would probably be dead before he could arrive here.
Malthus re-corked the bottle of wine, folded the blanket with the bottle and glasses in the middle. At least returning them would give him a reason to see her tomorrow. With Lyrri and Ros in tow, he walked back to the sanctuary. He went to the half-finished two room house he had been building for himself and his nieces, placed his stuff there, and went looking for Beth.
He found her overseeing some of the sa'necari women she had doing laundry in a tub on the left side of the yard. Beth smiled at him.
"Where have you been? she asked, giving him a hug.
Malthus wished she would not do that, but did not want to risk pushing the triggers too far to the other side. Ros and Lyrri wanted to play with Darmyk."
"You were chasing Merissa again, weren't you, Beth hissed in his ear.
"Now, now, Beth. Let's discuss this alone, shall we?"
She turned her head in a pouting fashion, dipping her shoulders at him, but did not resist when Malthus took her hand. He walked with her to the copse they had once used for their trysting, and by way of the woods back to his house. The moment he had her inside away from the sight of other people, Malthus pulled Beth down onto his bed.
She leaned against him, unlacing her shift. Malthus crooked a finger under her chin and raised her head so that their eyes met. Beth smiled just as Malthus lunged into her mind. Her eyes glazed and she went still.
"There will be no more jealousy, Beth, Malthus commanded in a silken voice.
"No more jealousy. Beth's voice was toneless and hollow.
Malthus found a vulnerable place in Beth's psyche built around her feeling of self-worth: she disliked the way she looked. He stabbed her there with a needle of power and a thread of spellcraft, knotting another coercion in place. You want to be beautiful, Beth?"
"Yes."
"You will become beautiful when you lay down upon my altar and die. You will die for me, Beth?"
A frightened gleam of understanding showed in her eyes. Yes. Upon your altar."
"Good. You will tell no one and you will obey implicitly when I tell you it is time to go there."
"Yes."
"And if I choose to bestow your death upon another as a gift, you will go to him willingly?"
Beth swallowed, tears gathering in her eyes. Yes."
"Now undress for me, Beth, and lie down."
* * * *
Merissa sat in the spinning room with the carding combs in her hands, slowly working the fine wool back and forth until it was straight and clean. A half filled basket of the carded wool rested on the floor between her knees. Two baskets of the uncarded wool sat beside her. The clan had several herds of sheep and goats, including one whose hair was so fine that a shawl from it could be drawn through a ring and yet was wondrously warm. The latter was from the goats and called kazamerie. When she finished, one of her aunts would spin and then her mother and two eldest aunts would weave on the three great looms by the hearth in the main hall. Only the family was allowed to work with the wool at this stage, not the clumsy servants who had less to gain from it.
Malthus made her feel uneasy. Combining that with this room, made her feel queasy. All of her troubles had started in this room. The motions of her hands became a meditation and she slid without helping it into her remembrances. Yes, all of her troubles had started here.
Merissa wore a voluminous skirted cream dress with a tight, stiff bodice that cupped her breasts and molded itself to them. A cream hair net held her hair in place. Everything was cream, the color of this wool so that the loose fibers would not show when they floated across as some always did. One of the reasons she liked carding was that the lanolin in the wool made her hands so soft.
She worked steadily, drifting off into daydreams. While the clan called her a princess, she was really just a clan chieftain's daughter. At least that was how she thought of it. Real princesses, like those at the court of King Baaltrystan, did not card wool and weave. She was not certain exactly what they did, beyond the descriptions of balls and intrigue in some old books, but Merissa was certain it was far more pleasant and interesting than this.
Taking another handful of the raw wool, Merissa began to card again with a deep sigh. All of her suitors were clan and she fancied none of them. The very last thing she wished was to remain stuck in this valley or another clan valley with each year much like the one before it. Troyes intrigued her. No sa'necari who had come through this valley over the years had ever paid her so much attention, but perhaps that had been nothing more than the fact that before she had been a child. Now she was seventeen, a woman.
The door opened as if her thoughts had called him and Troyes came in. He moved aside some of the baskets and drew a chair over beside her, settling into it. Merissa's heart quickened. They had been flirting for days, but this was the first time she found herself alone with him.
Troyes gave her a languid smile, his eyes soft and sensual. He ran his finger along her arm and took the combs away from her, setting them atop one of the baskets. Merissa shivered at his touch. He stirred her longings in ways that the lycan males did not. Troyes regarded her a moment, then leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. She caught her breath sharply at the electric tingle it sent racing through her body. Her loins grew wet and aching. Troyes kissed her again and this time he parted her lips with h
is tongue, sliding it inside. Merissa responded tentatively, twining her tongue with his, wanting him to touch more of her. Her hands crept up his arms and linked behind his neck.
The chair arms separated them, but Troyes leaned as far over as he could and fondled her breasts as he continued to kiss her. Merissa moaned softly. He moved to the floor and drew her after him. She went unresisting and lay there on her back as Troyes pressed his body on top of hers, moving against her. He pushed her long skirt up, reaching for her small clothes to move them aside, while he jerked the strings on his pants loose with his other hand. She caught his hands and stopped him, realizing that he intended to enter her.
"They'll catch us. Mother comes up for wool or sometimes to check on me."
Troyes rolled off her, went to the door, and drew a sign upon it. A black sigil formed, sank into the wood, and vanished to be sensed rather than seen. Then he returned to her.
Merissa's heart hammered with sudden fear. Troyes, please. I don't wish to go any farther."
Troyes eyes narrowed and his smile became poisonous. You've been teasing me for days, weeks. Parading your charms and practically begging me to touch them. I am not one of your farmer boys. I am a grown man, and a sa'necari. I will not tolerate having you get me worked up, and then withholding what you have promised with your eyes and manner."
"II'll scream."
Troyes shrugged. If anyone answers, I'll kill them."
Merissa shivered harder as he knelt between her legs and removed her underwear. His fingers probed her with his thumb on the knob of her clit. She whimpered in a tangled web of fright and desire.
"A virgin. You surprise me, princess of farmers. I understand both your need and your reluctance. He drew his hand back and licked her juices off his fingers. Anyone coming to this door will suddenly find something else to do, Troyes told her. Do not fear discovery."
Merissa swallowed. She had not meant to go this far, but now there seemed to be no way out of it. She had never gone beyond petting with her lycan suitors. Yet, the fear was part of the attraction. Merissa had been craving the feel of a male, a powerful male, inside her for two years now. If she did not yield to Troyes, she had no doubt that he would force her and hurt her. The sa'necari was completely different from the lycan youths who had tolerated her retreat before it went too far. He was older, stronger than anyone she had ever flirted withstronger than any male she had ever known.
If she screamed, it would bring her father and Isranon; and Troyes would kill them. With all the flirting, it would be assumed she had encouraged him, possibly come to him willingly, and then cried rape to conceal her sins. Either way she was disgraced. She wanted to weep and make excuses, but she knew it was already too late.
Supported by one hand, Troyes bulk hovered above her, while he continued to unlace his pants.
"Please, Troyes, this isn't right. Let me go, Merissa said with more insistence, shoving at him.
Troyes lifted his manhood out. Don't make me hurt you, Merissa. You want this. You know you do."
Merissa's breath caught in her chest at the size of his member, long, hard and thickmore so than she had expected a male to look. Her pulse raced with fear and an oddly delicious anticipation as fear seemed to increase her need and make it sweeter. His knob bumped against her clit and the entrance to her womanhood, causing it to tingle. Her loins grew more moist and she squirmed, wanting to be touched and terrified of the consequences.
"Don't move, Troyes admonished. He settled his heavy bulk atop her and pressed her down, pinning her.
Merissa swallowed back a scream, his acrid musk betrayed the countless deaths he had caused in the rites, the lives and souls he had eaten to increase his powers to a monstrous level; She felt trapped beneath the pressure of his body. Ancestors, have mercy, she whimpered.
He entered her without another word. Merissa cried out softly as her maidenhead tore. Blood coated Troyes cock and stained Merissa's white dress, pooling beneath her hips. Tears ran down her cheeks and he kissed them away.
"Put your legs around me, Troyes ordered and Merissa obeyed. I will teach you the arts of the slut."
Merissa's crying worsened and he ignored it. Any man she lay with after this, any husband she might be given to, would wonder who had been first. A husband might even repudiate her on learning she was not virgin. Had she been a commoner, it might not have mattered, but there were different standards for the Chieftain's daughter.
It seemed as if he sawed at her forever, lasting long after her tissues had begun to dry, and she was becoming sore. Merissa wondered if it was always like this, but there would be no one to ask without revealing what had been done to her. Finally, he seeded her and rolled off, to lie there gazing at her. Her underdress was wet with his fluids.
Troyes stroked her hair. You are very beautiful, princess of farmers. You belong at the King's court, not doing a servant's work ... come to my bed tonight and let me show you how it could be."
Merissa sucked in a deep breath, her head reeling with confusion. II don't..."
Troyes kissed her again with exquisite thoroughness, opened her bodice and took out one of her breasts. His tongue ran around the nipple teasing it to hardness. Merissa moaned low like an animal. His fangs came down and entered the blue vein above the nipple. She gasped sharply and then felt herself swept up as his power took the pain of his feeding from her. Troyes was very skillful. Her perceptions tilted and shifted. She grew dizzy and confused. When, at last, he lifted his bloody mouth from her breast he asked again. Come to my bed tonight?"
"Yes."
Merissa felt bile rising in her throat. She dropped the combs into a basket and folded over her arms. Was it rape? Or a forced seduction? Did I really want him? Ancestors, what else could I have done? What in hell's name could I have done?"
She closed her eyes, breathing hard. I should have fought him off ... or tried to."
An image of Malthus entered her mind and she wondered why he made her think of Troyes.
The door creaked open, startling Merissa.
"Mommy? Darmyk came in with Kenly trailing him, and climbed onto her lap. Are you sad? He touched the wet streaks on her cheeks.
"No, honey. Merissa set his little hands aside. I got some wool in my eyes. That's all."
Looking at Darmyk's chubby face, Merissa imagined what his fangs would look like when the appetite for blood came upon him at puberty.
Isranon, I need you. He needs you.
* * * *
In the stillness of the night, Malthus dreamed of the taste of death. He was back in the manor that a battle-clan had forced him to abandon years ago, standing between two bleeding tables, comparing the speed with which a lycan in hybrid form died versus how swiftly one in human form succumbed to identical wounds. The hybrid form took longer to kill.
It had been there that he had rited his father when the mon refused to provide him with an inheritance equal to that of his two legitimate brothers. All the tremendous power he gained from his father that night had left him drunk for days afterward. The image changed. His father lay spellcorded, screaming his lungs out, while Malthus shoved the ritual blades into his body. Gods, how he had hated that mon for way he and his mother had been treated.
The subtle tell-tales he had set on his doors and windows to alert him if someone entered while he slept sounded through his sleeping mind, summoning him from his slumber. He flashed into consciousness, his hand going to the naked sword beside his bed. Malthus slithered from between the covers, his feet making no noise as he crossed the floor and slipped to the door without bothering to cover his nudity.
Easing the door open, he stared into the living area where the two girls slept on their reed beds along the walls. His eyes shone red in the darkness. He could see almost as clearly as if it were daylight. Ros gave a soft moan in her sleep and that was when Malthus saw the bat laying on her chest with its fangs in her neck.
"What the fucking hell are you doing? Malthus demanded.
The bat hopped away from Ros after closing the wound, and changed into a short, ill-favored looking mon with four rows of heavy frown lines etched into his forehead. His brow ridge jutted over his small, deep set eyes, and a thick nose, humped and hooked above his thin sneering lips.
"Having a small drink, the vampire replied, gazing hungrily at the two little girls. I assume they are your wine-presses."
"Don't make assumptions in my home, Malthus snarled. They're my nieces. Don't touch them."
The Lemyari messenger shrugged. That one, he pointed to Ros, her blood is intoxicating. She's going to be beautiful when she's grown."
"Stay away from my nieces, Sergei."
Sergei shrugged again. Maybe I'll pay her another visit when she's old enough to bed."
"Stop it. Malthus hold on his sword tightened. Lemyari shifters were always mages. Lemyari had a taste for mages, especially for recruiting them into the ranks of the undead. By all accounts, Sergei Wraithsbane had been a powerful battlemage before Brandrahoon turned him. Malthus did not want to test thatyet. He had only met Sergei a handful of times, and knew him mainly by reputationa reputation that said his tastes ran mainly to girl children younger than twelve years old.
"Why are you here?"
"Egidius has arrived, and he's brought your army. You have anything to drink?"
"From a bottle. My wine-presses aren't accessible at this hour."
"That will have to do. The Lemyari grinned. He followed Malthus into his bedroom.
Malthus opened a chest and took out two golden preserving bottles, passing them to the messenger. For your troubles. Now get out."
Sergei changed into a bat and left with his payment.
Malthus knelt beside Ros bed and roused her. She moaned low, her hand going to her neck. I hurt."
"I know, darling. Malthus Read her and cursed silently at how much Sergei had taken from her. She would be ill tomorrow unless he acted fast. His blood was far stronger than anything he had bottled. He pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder. Feed, Ros.
"Uncle Malthus? Ros asked in a dazed and sleepy voice.
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