“You could start by fucking the woman you call wife, but isn’t.” He chomped down more elias.
Tor tapped his boot against the leg of the banquet table, and called on the same patience he’d needed when he’d had to wait on a mark. Regios’ lives were public. “What else?”
Gaspart made a face. “Windio. He is trusted. Convince him. The others will follow.”
“Set it up.”
A crafty smile played at Gaspart’s mouth. “He’s coming tomorrow.”
“Good. And contact the media. Tell them that I’m sending the felanas home to their fathers.”
His eyes narrowed, arm frozen mid-reach, elia held between his thumb and forefinger. “Can’t you just add her to the harem?”
Tor took a bite of savory meat spiced with sasprilla. It tasted like his childhood. “Argenti don’t share mates.” He narrowed his eyes. “And neither do I. So you can stop looking at her like that.”
Gaspart’s mouth tightened. “You want to piss on the Alliance. I get that. Fine. Parade around, take her touring the countryside, sing her praises, plaster her offworlder face on every digi on the planet, but if you send back those felanas, you will alienate every foreign dignitary and ally we have.”
“I can sway them.” Tor grabbed an elia for himself and tossed it into his mouth. Salty and tart. “We can end the Alliance.”
“So, it’s not about her?”
Tor smiled. “You’ve known me a long time, brother. What do you think?”
“The old Tor would have pissed on the Alliance just for shits and fucked an alien for fun. But I don’t know you anymore. Dillan wouldn’t have done this.”
Tor bared his teeth. “I’m not Dillan.”
Gaspart shook his head fast and waved a hand through the air like he was brushing the thought away.
“The Alliance can come. Let them try to take the Selissa of the Roq away. I won’t even have to fight. Every man on Vesta will do the job for me. If the Alliance can take a selissa from a regio, they can take anyone, do anything. Nothing is sacred. It would mean civil war.”
Gaspart leaned back, wiping his hands together, spraying salt and spices. “Is that what you’re after?”
He popped another elia. “Freeze exportation of grain from our farms. That grain goes to the people of Tamminia if they need it. The nobles can get on board with my plan. Or we’ll have an internal war they can’t win.”
Gaspart made a face like he was thinking it all through, all the while tapping an elia on his plate. “Tread softly. Not everyone will like you sticking your dick in their business.”
Tor leaned back and took in the banquet hall, filled with humanis, felanas, and a rare few Primes. He wanted the tyranny of the Alliance done, not just for them, but for himself too. For his children. The thought made him smile. Would his children have warm honey skin like Klym, or pale like his? Black hair or gold? And their eyes? Had an Argenti and a Vestige ever had a child? The thought made his blood thrum. “I’m counting on it. If we are going to withdraw from the Alliance, I need to know where the nobles’ loyalties lie. With Tamminia or with the Alliance.”
Gaspart snorted. “Easy words. Hard answers.”
“Do you know who will swing which way?”
Gaspart’s eyes gleamed. “I can guess. But a guess isn’t good enough. We need to know.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So, we start with Windio. Then Fandig. We go from there.”
Tor crossed his arms behind his head, watching Klym as she took a sip of her water, her face tight and composed. Someday, he’d clear this hall, spread her out over the table under the light of the glittering starflies, and ride her hard.
Twelve days to gather support. Twelve days to convince her to stay, despite the damned harem. Twelve days to stop a war.
“Klym can deliver Argentus. We will make peace with our greatest enemy, and the Alliance will have no war to fill its coffers.”
A smile spread across Gaspart’s face. “You’ve changed indeed, Regio.”
22
Let them hear,
Let them all hear
AS THE LAST rays of the sun set, the glass columns came alive inside with millions of glowing insects that Kiava, the woman on her left, and Staria, the woman on her right, called starflies. They swarmed and fluttered in the columns like mauve and amber stars, bathing the diners in warm light.
Incense and spices floated in the warm air, and somewhere, someone played a song that was thick with drums, a deep, driving beat that called to her angry heart. She sipped whatever was in her goblet until her blood warmed, her belly settled, and she could look at Tor without wanting to clamber atop the table and stomp her feet, breaking every plate and glass in her path, screaming until her face turned blue.
He, on the other hand, was calm and regal, leaning back in his chair, resting his elbow on an armrest, chin in his hand, laughing indolently at something Gaspart said.
At ease. Brutally handsome. Or handsomely brutal. Both.
She hated him so much her eyes burned.
He’d tied his hair back again, and the light played under his sharp cheekbones, his black eyes glittering warmly whenever they fell on her. And fall on her they often did. She smiled sweetly each and every time, careful not to give any indication that she’d like nothing more than to claw his eyes out and spit in the sockets.
He’d given her such hell for Spiro and Agammo.
When the last plate had been cleared, Tor pushed back his chair.
A hush settled across the room, as if twenty-seven felanas held their bated breaths, hoping he’d cross the room for them.
He didn’t.
He came for her, carrying her plant, eyes warm. He should have looked ridiculous—tall, dark and menacing, carrying a cluster of flowers—but he didn’t. Not even a little bit.
He just looked perfect.
That dimple was back in his cheek as he stretched out his hand to her and helped her rise. “Get enough to eat?”
“Oh, I had more than enough,” she said with such relish, it came out a purr.
A wary dimple fluttered across one cheek, but all he said was, “Good.”
He led her down an arched hallway built of stones that sparkled, lighted again by glass tubes of starflies, fluttering away. The noise from the banquet hall faded and nothing but night birds and distant drums greeted them.
“I sat next to felanas,” she said idly.
His shoulders stiffened.
“Two of them, in fact. Their names were Kiava and Staria. Do you remember them?”
He trailed his tongue along his upper teeth, eyes narrowing. “Don’t think so.”
They passed through the main body of the residence, a massive hall that would have rivaled anything on Argentus. Dark, gleaming floors were cut by jagged bronze walls rising high overhead, interspersed with lighted amber glass, surrounding them. An alien landscape all on its own.
“They were full of stories.” She glared up at him as he led her up a cantilevered staircase, her fingers curling into his forearm.
He raised a brow.
“They told me about your tattoos. Your treks. Your prowess in battle. Your scars that you won’t tell me about. Your many conquests. Tell me, Tor, just how many women have you slept with?”
He sighed. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”
“Why not? I’m not actually your selissa. I don’t mind a bit hearing about all the women you’ve had. At least four names were given, but the implication was that there had been many more. They found it to be quite impressive.” She nearly choked on the last part. “I found it revolting. The men of Argentus aren’t so disgustingly prolific. They are with one woman, a dominess, before they take their mate. But you.”
“Ah, shit,” he muttered at the top of the stairs, tucking her plant under his arm, one hand tightening around her waist.
She made a half-hearted attempt to brush his hands off, but they stayed strong.
He propelled her
forward so she walked in front of him, down a hallway with a long, ornately patterned carpet and a carved doorway at the end. He didn’t speak as he opened it and pulled her inside.
Cool, balmy air assaulted her, scented with the same sweet flower she’d noticed at the hangar when they’d landed. The back wall of the chamber opened to a patio. In the distance, the beating drums sounded.
That muscle in his jaw worked as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry you were upset.”
She tightened her fists, gritting her teeth, finally letting the polite mask slip. “Upset? Why should I be upset, hearing about how boisterous you were in bed with every felana in the city? Or how many times you brought them to climax. They told me how generous you were. And how large. And how attentive.”
His shoulders clenched, and his motions were jerky as he lowered her plant to a table near the door.
“Would you mind, Tor? Hearing about how Agammo kissed me? How I moaned as he did it? How I spread my thighs for him? How I begged him for more.”
He kicked the door shut behind him. Not hard enough for it to slam, but enough to show that she’d touched a nerve. Good.
His hands fell to his sides, and he rounded on her, breathing hard. His eyes were darker than the night sky, and his face was furious.
She must be drunk because she should have shut up long ago. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to know how it felt.
So, she didn’t stop. She just kept on pushing. “Would you like to hear how I touched him back. Should I tell you how big he was? Or how much I wanted the red haze with him, to belong to him, as only an Argenti male can claim a woman. No Prime could ever compete with it. They addict you with thei—”
Motions sharp and jerky, he strode across the room, closed a hand around her upper arm and shoved her against a wall so hard her teeth clattered.
A growl burst from his mouth. She’d only seen him this angry back on Araa-Ara when she’d locked him out of his ship.
Breathing hard, he stared down.
“Fucking right, I would mind,” he snarled and turned his back on her.
“I heard a lot more.”
“You shouldn’t have had to hear any of it.” He dropped a hand to his hip, his shoulders rising and falling. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She tossed her hands out in frustration. That was the last thing she wanted. That would mean he’d have to interact with those women, those beautiful, lusty, adoring women who were from Vesta, who understood him, who knew about his goals and his past. Who had heat cycles that made men lose their minds, and mysterious, exotic felana biologies she would never have. She didn’t want him on the same planet as them. “Don’t you want to know what I heard?”
“Not really.”
With his back still to her, he reached for the neck of his shirt, grabbing it just below his nape, and tugged it over his head in a smooth motion. Shadows danced in the hollows beneath his shoulder blades, in the long valley in the center of his spine. All those scars and muscles bunched and shifted, smooth, glowing skin covered in swirling tattoos.
He moved with savage grace, stepping across the carpeted floor.
She pressed back against the wall. She was barely breathing, staring into glittering, fathomless black eyes. Had she finally pushed him too far? Would he spank her again? The thought brought a thrill up her spine. She opened her mouth, maybe to push him a little harder, maybe to beg him not to hurt her.
He bent down and tugged off a boot.
He tossed it into the center of the room. It spun in a lazy arc and landed just shy of the foot of the bed. He tugged off the other one and tossed it too.
Then his socks. He balled them up and lobbed them too. They bounced off the bed and rolled across the carpet.
“Is that something you want? An Argenti Bonding?”
She tugged at her gown. Truly? No. It had always terrified her, the loss of the control, but somehow, Agammo had seemed so unthreatening. The thought of giving her body over into the control of a man like Tor, though—
“Answer me,” he rasped.
“I had accepted it with Agammo.”
He nodded grimly. “Did you really kiss him?”
She blinked. “I did.”
His eyes gleamed. “Not for real. You were surprised when I opened my mouth. You shook the first time I touched my tongue to yours.”
She looked away, her body heating at the memory. “Suffice it to say, it was with great surprise that I was told that the rest of the felanas in the Roq look forward to their next heat cycles.” Her cheeks flamed at the crude words.
He caught his lower lip between his teeth and undid the top button of his fly. “Were you jealous?”
“No.” It came out too fast.
“You were jealous.”
He undid the rest of the buttons, exposing the vein that ran a path straight down toward the bulge in his trousers.
“No.” The word was louder this time. She was almost shouting. And her eyes burned. “I was disgusted.”
“I would be. If you fucked Assamo, I’d rip his stupid head off his scrawny neck and fuck you right in front of it, so you’d never forget that no one touches you but me.”
The hairs rose on the back of her neck. That was the thing about Tor. He was brutal and merciless, but he also had a penchant for exaggeration. She saw right through him. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
He breathed out a laugh and dropped his pants to the floor, kicked them angrily behind him. “Just fact. And I like that you’re jealous, but you don’t need to be. I won’t touch another woman. Vaniiya, you’re more than enough. You have nothing to worry about.”
Her mouth went dry. Like that, her eyes burned, and she wanted to bury her face in his chest.
He stepped closer, his cock bobbing under its own weight in front of him with each slow step.
She swallowed. “I wasn’t jealous.” Her head bumped against the wall as she stared up into his eyes. “I was appalled.”
His eyes tightened, but when he touched her cheek, it was the gentlest, softest of touches. That one touch made her entire body shiver, from the very top of her head to the bottom of her toes.
A smile lurked in the corner of his mouth.
It had been a mistake confronting him like this. She should have kept it to herself. She shouldn’t have said anything.
“Whatever you heard wasn’t the truth. I don’t talk about my scars. Or my tattoos. They give them to men here when they have their first kill. I had mine when I was eleven. My father was proud. I pissed myself and puked on my boots.” He pointed at the swirl just over his heart. “That’s what this one is. A boy, maybe a year older than me at the time.”
He pointed at another, and then another, and another, telling her about a person who had died at his hand. “The rest…” He shrugged. “I don’t remember anymore who they are. They’re just battle tattoos, evidence of a trek or a raid completed, a life ended. And the scars? Proof I’m still alive.” Every muscle in his stomach rippled and tightened as he stalked closer.
She stared back, refusing to thank him for the explanation, or apologize for forcing it, though it felt like the polite thing to do.
“And the felanas?” His voice was low, just a murmur really. “They were Dillan’s wives. I inherited them along with the throne. They don’t matter to me. I don’t want them.” He trailed his thumb down to her bottom lip, taking her chin on his forefinger. “I want you. I choose you.”
She scoffed, but he only moved in closer.
“You matter to me.”
“You barely know me.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I know you.”
His other hand slid down her back, to cup her bottom. “I know how you like your eeffoc.”
He moved closer, so the hard planes of his bare chest had her sandwiched against the wall. He blocked out everything, the whole world, and all she saw was him and his big, warm chest. “I know how you like your bread in the morning.”
Her eyes burned. He couldn’t know all that. She didn’t even know all that.
He teased the corner of her lips with his tongue, sliding his fingers through her hair, destroying her bun. “I know that you want me.”
Her lips parted, neck arching. Want him? Yes. It was dangerous, the wanting. Dangerous, and unreasonable, irrational, impossible. They didn’t belong together.
“And that you’re too stubborn to admit that you hated your cage of a life on Argentus.” He trailed his nose down the shell of her ear.
She’d lost control of her own breathing, the air shuddered in her lungs like she couldn’t get enough of it. “Th-th-that’s not true.” She’d had a whole future planned with Agammo.
“And I know you’re afraid of me and the way I make you feel.” He smiled. “If you let go of all your manners and teachings, you’ll see how right we are together.”
“N—”
He closed his mouth on hers. Soft at first. Like the faintest brush of a petal. And then stronger. Until it wasn’t soft at all, and kiss was too sensitive a word. Too dainty.
His lips conquered hers. His tongue invaded her mouth. His hands dominated her body, as unstoppable and irrefutable as a raging tide.
She couldn’t fight it. Or stop it.
She was caught in an explosion of clutching hands and heat. So much heat.
She moaned, and so did he. She tilted her head to the side, trying to get closer and so did he. She stroked his tongue with hers, and so did he. He seemed every bit as mad and wild as she.
The Taming Page 16