by Brenna Lyons
Danellan sighed as he lessened in her. “I did want to taste you,” she said wistfully.
Michael chuckled and lifted her onto the bed, a wicked idea taking hold. He rolled to his knees between her ankles and grasped her knees lightly. Her eyes widened as he pushed her legs wide and knees up.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice husky.
He growled at the sight of his come trickling from between the lips of her swollen sex. “I love seeing my seed in you.” He smiled. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he released her knees.
Michael cupped his fingers under the trail winding down her perineum. She gasped as he ran his hand up, collecting a small amount of his essence on his fingers. Danellan’s muscles tightened, spilling a little more into his hand. He hardened at the sight of it.
“Michael? What are you doing?” she groaned.
He leaned over her, seating his cock inside her again. He brought his hand to her mouth carefully and met her eyes. “You want to taste me?” he offered.
“Yes.” Her tongue darted out and sampled the fluid collected in his hand.
Michael started moving in her. “Slowly, Danellan. I want to watch you enjoy my essence while I take you.”
She obliged him, her tongue painting hot trails as his seed disappeared. When she sucked in his fingers, Michael nearly lost control and climaxed without her. He captured her mouth, tasting the faint musk of their mixed climax.
“We taste good together,” he mused.
Danellan smiled. “Do you think that means we’ll make good babies together?”
“Absolutely.”
Her fingers tangled in the curls on his chest. “How long will we stay here?”
“Do you want to leave?”
“Never,” she assured him. “But, we can’t stay that long. Can we?”
“No, we can’t. Unless you have a reason to leave, I believe we’ll stay until you tell me you’re pregnant.”
“And then?” she asked nervously.
“We sign our contract.” Michael felt his control shatter.
Danellan pulled him deep as he spent in her again. “Promise me,” she begged.
“You have my vow.”
*
Iric 35th
Danellan giggled as the sila-bubbles danced over her breasts. Michael nuzzled her neck with his soft beard, making her nipples harden in anticipation.
“Do you ever tire?” she teased him.
“Of you? Never.”
She snuggled her back to his chest as he pulled her closer. The evidence of his arousal pressed against her spine.
Danellan smiled. “I see that. Will we break our record today, Michael?”
He growled and nipped at her ear. “Do you wish to?”
“Oh, Fion. Yes.”
It had been more than a week since they came to the manor, a week of warmth, food and love games. Danellan had one moment of terror when she found the royal chamber on the third floor. This was no abandoned manor of Michael’s family as she first assumed. This place was owned by Kell Ri, the lair of the enemy.
Michael soothed her, assuring Danellan that the manor had been abandoned generations earlier, that they were safe. As he promised, no one ventured near. The snow mounted outside while she and Michael enjoyed each other’s bodies.
Danellan reasoned her way out of her fears as the days passed. If she was contracted to another man, Kell Ri couldn’t force her to his bed. Even if Michael’s family rejected her or he refused to contract, it was against the law to terminate a pregnancy for the express purpose of sterilizing her.
Michael was a rare male, a male still possessing of the healing magic. The blood tests would show that, and even if she begged them to, the doctors would not mechanically take the baby unless her life depended on it.
Surely, Kell Ri wouldn’t want her after Danellan’s body had known childbirth. Even if he did, in the absence of a contract, the child could not legally be taken from her. Having a genetically strong baby granted her aid. She would be gifted a place in service as a teacher or staff in a government facility so that her child would want for nothing. No matter what was to come, carrying Michael’s child would improve her lot.
Danellan sighed as his hands trailed over her body, slick from the fragrant sila-soap in the water. Michael was an attentive and talented lover, tireless in his pursuit of her.
Every time he took her, Michael asked her to be his. Danellan had to admit that the only casualty she’d suffer if Michael turned from her would be her broken heart. So every time he asked, she assured him that she would sign the contract he offered.
Michael groaned into her throat as his fingers slid deep in her and found her ready. Danellan rocked against his hand. He lifted her from the water and tossed a quilted silin robe on the floor. He laid down on his back, pulling her over his length. Danellan’s eyes widened in surprise as Michael locked her hips to his.
“Don’t move,” he rasped.
He raised his knees, planting his feet flat on the floor. Danellan gasped at the change in angle. His thighs cradled her and supported most of her weight.
Michael balanced her with his hands on her hips and started moving. The position allowed him to take her faster and harder, deeper than when she normally rode him. He filled her, his cock teasing at the muscle that stimulated her at the pinnacle of each stroke.
He came quickly, more quickly than usual. Danellan screamed his name as he locked into her body. Tears of joy tracked down her cheeks as she shattered, his roar echoing in her ears. There were no shocks, no egg released. They had succeeded in producing a child, and that child was implanted in her womb and making changes in her body as her mate lay locked inside her.
“Will you,” he began.
Danellan silenced him with a passionate kiss, her tongue caressing his as he cradled her in surprise. She laid kisses down his throat to his pulse point and back to his lips, nipping at him. “Make love to me, Michael. Never stop making love to me.” Was this the schen? The plea for him was out before she could wonder at it, but she did want him again, desperately.
Michael’s eyes locked on her face, and his smile disappeared. He brushed at her tears. “What have I done?” he asked in dismay.
She shook her head and pulled one of the hands from her hips to her womb. “You’ve given me a baby. Do it again, Michael.”
He looked at the hand between them in shock, rubbing a circle over her silin curls. “My daughter,” he breathed.
“It could be a son,” she reminded him.
“Then I will train him on war-buck, with dagger and bow.” His smile returned. Michael stared at his hand with that same smile until he lessened in her.
Danellan shivered as he released her body.
Michael startled, taking to his feet with her cradled to his chest. He vaulted to the bed in three leaps, settling her on the pillows and covering her with the quilt. He pulled two more quilts from the cabinet and added them.
She watched him in confusion. “Michael? What are you doing?”
“I let you chill,” he berated himself. “It won’t happen again. I’ll turn up the temperature for you and get food.” Michael turned to her with wild eyes. “Healing. Do you need my healing or massage?” he asked urgently.
“Michael, calm down. I am warm. I’m well. My pregnancy signs aren’t noticeable.”
“Yet.” He knelt next to her and kissed the hand she removed from beneath the quilts. “You carry my child. Anything you require, I will provide. Anything you desire, is yours for the asking.”
Danellan raised an eyebrow. “I desire you.” She smiled a coy smile. “I think my schen will keep you very busy.”
Michael’s eyes darkened, and his cock surged, ready for another round. “I would ask a favor of you.”
“Anything,” she promised him.
“Wait here.” He sprinted away without dressing, coming back with a purple silin bundle in his hands. Michael knelt beside her and pressed it into her hands.
Michael darkened. “Will you wear this for me? Will you honor me?”
Danellan unwrapped the bundle, setting the silin cloak aside carefully. The dress unfurled in her lap. She bit back tears. It was a presentation dress. Royalty wore such dresses, brides of kings and the highest-born nobles. Michael was honoring her by giving her this.
Or would he have had his bride presented to him? The gown was new, as the food, sheets, quilts, and silin day gowns were new. None of it had been here for generations, abandoned by Kell’s father. How high born was he?
“What is your family, Michael?” she asked quietly.
He dropped his eyes. “Will it matter to you?”
She shook her head. “I love you. Your family is immaterial.”
A smile lit his face, making his eyes bright. “You love me?”
“You doubted that?”
“I’m glad you said it. I love you, too.”
Danellan laughed heartily. “I know.” No man could suffer for her and show her such regard and not love her. “I love you, Michael. I will love you no matter who your family is.”
“Even if I was the son of Kell Ri, himself?” he teased.
Her stomach sent one warning swirl at that chilling thought. She pushed it away. She trusted Michael above all else. “Even then,” she assured him. “You are an honorable man.”
“Then we travel to Lind tomorrow to contact my family.”
“So soon?”
He kissed her again. “The weather is clear, and we have no milk for you here.”
Michael would be practical at a moment when her heart pounded in terror of what his noble family would think of her, the disavowed daughter of a general.
“But first,” he growled playfully, “I’d like to see you in that gown.”
Danellan nodded. Michael was perfect. Even the family he fled couldn’t be enough to make her think twice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Iric 36th
Danellan looked around the common room in dismay as Michael whispered an order to the matron. He cradled Danellan’s elbow when she would have bolted and removed the quilt from around her shoulders, handing it off to the matron with a nod. He led her to a curtained table in the rear and settled her in the semi-darkness. The matron came to set a mulled berry drink for her and lizor berry wine for Michael.
She leaned close to him. “The soldiers, Michael,” she pleaded quietly.
He nodded and sipped the wine. “I know. It is a soldier I need to contact my family.”
“Then do it, please. Before—”
“I need an officer, not one of these bits of war fodder.”
Danellan nodded and took a hearty swallow of the warm liquid, her hand shaking. Never in a century had she pictured herself in this position. She was trusting Michael to place her within a hand’s width of capture. I trust him. I have to trust him.
“That’s more like it,” he breathed.
She looked at the three officers walking in, two lieutenants and— Her heart stuttered. Danellan grasped Michael’s arm as he started to stand. He looked at her in surprise and cupped her cheek, questioning her without speaking the words.
Danellan shook her head. “No, Michael. Not that captain. Please, not that one. Wait for someone else.”
“What is it?” He looked at Tranol, and his jaw tightened. Michael turned back to her, his expression ordering an explanation.
“He cannot see me. Please, Michael.”
“Has that captain injured you?”
She gasped at the fury in his eyes. Danellan didn’t want to answer that question. She didn’t want to lie to Michael, but the truth was more than she could bear to spill to him in the common room of an inn. She had hoped he would never have to know why she feared Tranol and why he hunted her.
“Has he?” Michael demanded through clenched teeth.
Tranol had hurt her but not in any way she could describe simply to Michael. “He is — my brother, my father’s son with his first mate.”
“But, you fear him. You’re shaking at the sight of him.”
Danellan dropped her eyes. “Please choose another.”
Michael cupped her face up, wiping an errant tear from her cheek with a gentle expression. “He will not see you. You have my word. Not here and now.”
Before she could protest, Michael stood and pulled the curtain to shade her. She could barely see the table Tranol and his friends took through the gap. She held her breath as Michael approached them. Danellan wished she could hear their conversation.
*
Michael strode across the common room, pushing back the haze of fury clouding his reason. Danellan’s words coursed through his mind. Not all soldiers are honorable men, even officers. I wasn’t Father’s heir. He is my brother, my father’s son with his first mate.
Danellan was frightened of him, this pompous cur that Michael wanted to snap in two. Whatever her older brother’s crimes were, she felt she couldn’t tell Michael the tale. He had no doubts that this was the man who put a bounty on her, the man who haunted her dreams. Don’t let him take me. Michael ground his teeth in fury. If her brother was the one she pleaded with in her dreams, his suffering would be endless.
Michael stood over the trio for a moment, scanning his eyes down the polished young officer a few years older than himself. At first, the captain didn’t react to his presence. He gave Michael a cold look; taking in the muddy boots, worn clothing, and thick beard that marked his assumed station in undisguised disdain.
The captain’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger. His eyes narrowed. “What is your business, sir?” He affected a tone of smug superiority that turned Michael’s stomach.
Michael leaned closer. “We have business, Captain. Send your friends away.”
He roared in laughter. His friends joined in.
One of them clapped the captain on the shoulder. “You have business with this ragged drifter, Tranol?” he taunted.
Michael suspected that the lieutenant was taunting him rather than his captain.
“Certainly not,” Tranol insisted, ruffled by the implication. “Move on.”
Michael reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out his crest ring. He set it on the table and pushed it to Tranol with his index finger, tensing as Tranol tensed. “We have business to settle, Captain Tranol,” he assured the older man.
The cocky officer picked up the ring as Michael pulled his hand back. His smile disappeared, and he paled. Tranol met Michael’s eyes and swallowed hard. He fisted the crest ring reflexively.
Michael nodded. “Send your friends away.”
Tranol waved his empty hand. “Go,” he requested faintly.
“Tranol?” His friends surveyed Michael warily.
“Go,” he ordered in a stronger voice. “Go back to the base. Now.”
The lieutenants rose slowly and went to the door, looking back at Michael in confusion several times.
Tranol eased the ring to the tips of his fingers to examine it more closely. His hands shook. He winced as Michael settled into one of the newly vacated seats at the table and gave Tranol a dark look, one he used when someone was in serious danger of pushing him too far.
“What business have we, Prin—”
Michael motioned him for silence. “You will deliver a message to my brother. Is he residing at his retreat home?” Susan liked that house, so they spent most of their time there rather than Jole’s manor near the palace.
Tranol nodded.
“Good.” He pulled the missive he prepared from his coat pocket. Michael plucked his ring from Tranol’s fingers and pressed the missive to them. “You will bring my brother here.”
“What if—”
“He will come. You will accompany him. Our business is unfinished, Captain.”
“What have I done to offend you?” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper.
“Now is not the time. This is not the place.” He ground his teeth
at the idea of waiting, but Danellan would have the chance to see her brother’s fall. “There will be a time and a place very soon.”
The captain shuddered, and the last of the color drained from his face.
Michael nodded. That was good. Tranol was afraid of him. He should feel fear. He should feel hunted, even if only for a few hours. Danellan deserved that much.
Instilling fear was a simple task for Michael. His reputation as a half-mad re-bred bastard with royal blood in his veins worked in his favor. Even if he weren’t perceived as mad, a personal offense against him could mean a ritual death.
The matron came to set Tranol’s drink down, and Michael picked it up, downing half the iri cordial in a single gulp. He arched a brow at Tranol.
The captain looked away, fumbling out the coin to pay the matron. He pulled out far more than was needed. “Anything His—”
Michael gave him another hard look.
Tranol gulped. “Anything my friend requires, Rienna. If this is not enough, use my account.”
Michael smiled. “A suite, Matron. The best you have.”
The captain nodded his agreement. The matron smiled and hurried away to make the preparations. Tranol pocketed the missive and pushed to his feet, looking unsteady.
Michael rolled the glass between his fingertips. “Remember to come back with my brother, Captain.”
He nodded, his face an unhealthy shade of gray.
“Captain Tranol? Would you be the son of General Cro?” he mused.
“Yes, H— Yes, I am.”
“It’s been years since I’ve seen your father.” That was no lie. The last time Michael had laid eyes on the general was at least a decade earlier.
Tranol managed a weak smile. Did he believe himself safe based on that fictitious friendship?
“I know Cro’s second mate died years ago. Have you any family left?”
He stilled, searching Michael’s face as if trying to decide on the answer he should give. “A— A sister,” he whispered.
Michael nodded and downed the rest of the cordial. “Family is very important, Captain Tranol. It is a grave responsibility.”