Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1)

by YatesNZ, Jen

  ‘Sweet Ist and Asar, Great Cronos and Mighty Ra, all the great Gods of creation! I swear you're an enchantress.’

  ‘Oh Taur—I can't think—’

  ‘No more can I, Golden One, no more can I.’

  Clasping their bodies together he rolled to his back against the cool moss, Gynevra a precious weight imprinting the length of him. His hands cupped her face and his eyes searched hers, probing for he knew not what. He felt oddly disorientated, sated yet dissatisfied, wanting so much, knowing he could have so little.

  She pressed her soft cheek to his and wrapped her arms tightly about his neck. To his dismay he recognized a deep desire to never let her go.

  ‘Oh Taur, I never knew! Now I've discovered how it can be, I would beg for more of this in future,’ she whispered hoarsely. As soon as the words were spoken he felt her body stiffen and knew she was embarrassed at having expressed her need so frankly. Struggling with his own demons of regret and unprecedented longing, he lifted her head with his hands and drew in a deep, calming breath.

  ‘I'd—join—with you through all the future that offered but—I only have now to give you. The army sails for the Inland Sea tomorrow,’ he said huskily.

  He'd taken her to the stars again. He'd shown her the wonders of the Universe. Yet with those few words the dark realities of their world crowded about them in the steamy grotto, threatening to steal all joy from the moment. Gynevra knew she couldn't allow anything to mar this dawn of ecstasy, not even her awareness of Taur's careful use of the term ‘join’ instead of ‘make love’. Men of the ilk of the Warrior Lords of Atlantis didn't love. Not since the first King Gotham of Trephysia had gone mad for the love of one woman several generations back. They used many terms for the magic of the physical connection between the sexes but never would the word ‘love’ pass their lips. Performance, virility, stamina, all these were highly prized attributes for a Son of the Dragon. To admit to caring for one woman above any other would be to sign a warrant of social and political death. Every Paggi piaca aspired to a governance position and was very careful to subscribe to the cultural norms, none more so than those born of the Dragon Blood.

  Most especially those born to rule.

  Gynevra couldn't believe herself. She knew how it was and yet in her first encounter with a man outside Temple ritual she was presuming, wanting, demanding more than she should think to expect or even desire. High Priestess Eleni had warned them it was so with women. Why had she thought she'd be different? For her foolish and importunate demands of him she deserved to be ridiculed for her immaturity. Seeking to distract him from her blunder she forced a smile to her eyes, traced the dark hooks of his eyebrows with her thumbs and danced her lips across the sinful perfection of his mouth. At the soft huff of his heated breath and the tightening of his fingers in her hair, she relaxed. Taking delicate nips of his skin, which she immediately caressed with butterfly kisses, she moved along his rugged jaw, down the corded neck to the broad, heavily muscled expanse of his chest. The freedom to touch was intoxicating.

  ‘Then I would enjoy what I can while I may,’ she murmured. Burying her fingers in the soft whorls of black chest-hair, she savored the sensations of water-sleek skin, silky hair, and the scent of man. Anchoring herself firmly in the present, she cleared her mind of all thoughts of war and the brevity of their time together and gave herself over to the pleasure of touching, caressing. Now was all she had so now must be filled with enough memories to garnish countless empty tomorrows.

  ‘If I didn't know it must surely be impossible I'd swear I could take you again,’ he growled, closing his hand over hers where it teased at a flat brown nipple.

  Her heart shimmied against her breastbone as his gaze snagged hers. How easy it was to lose herself in the molten emerald depths. Before she could form another thought he'd drawn her mouth back to his, parted her lips with his tongue and begun the seduction all over again.

  ‘You're an enchantress, Golden One,’ he murmured, his words a soft hum against her lips between delving kisses. ‘It's said you follow in the ways of Electra, our great grandmother. If she was anything like you, she was very good.’

  He nibbled along her jaw-line to the soft lobe of her ear. She could scarcely think let alone speak but it was imperative he not know how deeply he affected her. At least she'd regained that much command of her senses.

  ‘Electra didn't enchant men,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice normal. ‘Her powers were used for healing and seeing what others cannot.’

  ‘But you're an enchantress of men?’

  Raising herself up on her arms she began to speak, but the sudden blaze in his eyes as they fixed on her breasts stole her breath. Was he saying she affected him as deeply as he affected her? But she knew the rules, she reminded herself. Think not, want not, beyond the joy of the moment.

  Determined to keep her response light, she fixed him with what she hoped was a saucy glare, and said, ‘Since I've only ever joined before in Temple ritual I don't actually know yet—and if you didn't keep taking over I'd have a chance to practice and find out.’

  Laughter rumbled up from his belly. Taur rolled, pinning her body beneath his. She'd just gifted him another bright memory to carry from this night of all nights. She matched him in so many ways. Mind-connection on any level with the women he bedded wasn't acceptable when that bedding was a contractual arrangement for the siring of a child on one already in a union. And it had never been necessary, or even desirable, when just relieving his urges with a willing partner. Yet with Gynevra of Poseidonia it was as natural as breath. For the first time in his life he resented the call to war. All the more reason to enjoy the moment.

  ‘So, is it ‘enchantress’ or ‘seductress’ skills you wish to practice on me?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow wickedly.

  Her feral-gold eyes danced mischievously causing him to drag in an unsteady breath.

  ‘You remind me of a half-starved wolf bitch I found with her cub in a snowy ravine in Heceuda Forest last winter. Your eyes are the same strange feral yellow with sparks of green and gold fire dancing in them.’ Suddenly embarrassed at what he'd exposed by sharing such a thought with her, he added gruffly, ‘No doubt you'll prove as grateful for my attentions as she did.’

  Her brows rose a little at that.

  ‘What attentions did you give her then?’

  ‘Built a spruce shelter for her and before the end of winter she'd become almost tame, accepting food from my hand. She went the moment the snow melted and the cub was strong enough to travel.’

  He'd shown more of himself to her than to any other. Her soft smile told him she understood that. Then the smile faded and her eyes became dark and fathomless as the steaming pool.

  ‘It's you who will leave, not I.’

  ‘Mmm, it is,’ he answered slowly. The tension in his gut eased. He felt as if he'd recognized a landmark while sailing in uncharted waters. Once on the ocean and focused on the war against the tribes of the Inland Sea, he'd forget the powerful allure of this golden woman.

  But for now—leaning forward, he flicked his tongue over the emerald stud in her upper lip, successfully distracting them both from uncomfortable thoughts. ‘So which is it? Enchantress or seductress?’ he asked again.

  Smiling up at him, she let him see the small imps promising retribution that danced in her eyes. She would make him pay in some small way for his need to be free.

  ‘I get plenty of practice for my skills as an ‘enchantress’ at the Temple.’

  Retribution indeed. There was no controlling his angry reaction to the thought of her accepting the same attentions from another she'd just received from him. But as quickly as the fire flared he shook his head to clear the strange miasm and growled, ‘Seduce me then. Where would you like to start?’

  A sudden wash of color heated her cheeks and her lashes fluttered in confusion. Clearly, though an initiate of the Sacred Mysteries as befitted a daughter of the Archinus, and confident in her womanly bearing and so
cial status as befitted a daughter of a King, Gynevra of Poseidonia was but a shy, maidenly novice in the arms of a man.

  ‘I don't believe I can wait,’ he muttered against her lips. Lowering himself to lie beside her, he smoothed the damp locks from her brow, then cupping her face in his hands, leant forward to claim her mouth once more.

  ‘This is a very beautiful way to begin, Golden One. Let your tongue mate with mine. Thrust and withdraw, taste and explore. Learn every secret of the moist inner places of my mouth. Let me know yours. Engage our mouths and tongues in the erotic dance of suggestion. Show me what your body would like to do to mine, would like mine to do to yours.’

  Tentatively her tongue met his, dove into his mouth, danced along his teeth and withdrew. Then her thoughts flowed in his mind like dark Gadeiran wine.

  ‘I want to touch you too. You look so—strong and—hard and yet there are parts of you that feel like the softest of sacred linens. I want to stare at you, because for all that you're so big and dark, you're beautiful to behold.’

  Relaxed in his arms, she looked like a slumberous, gilded creature of the senses. Then slowly, with eyes, hands, and mouth she began a journey of exploration that elicited guttural moans from deep in his throat and caused him to begin evaluating his chances of achieving an ‘ennead’. Nine in a night would have to be some sort of record! The city was already agog with the septet they'd witnessed.

  ‘You're more than an enchantress,’ he declared at length, his voice rough with need. ‘You're a witch, a sorceress—’

  Swift, running feet sounded on the path above the dell.

  ‘Master! Master!’

  Taur tensed in recognition and cursed virulently as he lifted his head to look over his shoulder. A small dark dwarf of a man who would scarcely have reached to the middle of his thigh and was almost as black as the obsidian of his belt and breastplate, erupted into the secret grotto.

  ‘Pog, you half-sized excuse for a piaca, you have the nose of a flaming bloodhound! How is it you can find me no matter where I am?’

  ‘Ah great master-sire, it is because great piaca, that is fine gentlemen like yourself, sire, are very noticeable and therefore easy to track!’

  Taur snorted, and muttered for Gynevra's ears only, ‘I should've left the misbegotten scrap of humanity to die in the pile of dirty rags in the midden heap where I found him. Then again,’ he added with a rueful grin, ‘I may just have been saved from discovering my stamina does have limitations!’

  Puffing audibly, and with sweat running down his cheeks in shiny rivulets, Pog waddled deeper into the shaded grotto. He wore the white robes of his native Khemu and a strange little red hat like an inverted flowerpot.

  ‘Who is it?’ Gynevra asked.

  ‘Pog, my—bodyguard.’

  Gynevra let out a startled huff and tucked herself behind his bulk. Taur grinned down at her, knowing she visualized someone at least as big and brawny as himself if not more so.

  ‘Take a look,’ he murmured, waggling his eyebrows.

  Slanting him a skeptical glance, Gynevra peeped round his shoulder, and to his delight, was unable to suppress a little hiccup of merriment.

  ‘Well, ta’a, I can quite see he might be useful as a bodyguard.—Which part does he guard?’

  ‘Saucy wench!’

  For a moment, green eyes held gold in a challenge older than time and their undersized intruder was almost forgotten.

  ‘Master, 'tis dark and steamy in here. I hear you but can't see you!’

  ‘I'm at the far side of the pool,’ Taur answered. ‘But never mind. What is so important that you come for me?’

  Then he whispered for Gynevra's ear only, ‘He's chronically myopic. Wait till he actually sees us. Then again, perhaps you'd better cover your ears. His language tends to the lurid when he's excited.’

  Gynevra hid her face against his chest as the slappy footsteps came nearer. Startled by a sudden fierce protectiveness, Taur tightened his arms about her.

  ‘Master!’ Pog called with evident relief. ‘I see you now! Timo sends me to find you. They want you urgently at the dock. They have trouble with Centaur. Master? M—Eeesh! Truly am I humbled before you, Great Cadal, God of Copulation! What are you made of Great Master, sire? Pure frigging bull-juice?’

  ‘It would seem so, Pog, my most faithful of bodyguards.’ The dwarf snorted, and Taur continued, ‘Tell Timo I wish the curses of Set would rain on him and all the rest of those useless arabo! Why can they never handle that horse?’

  ‘Because he's your horse, Master, and only follows your voice. Is full of bull-juice just like his frigging master, or I should say horse-juice. Perhaps if he'd spent the night as his master has he'd be easier to handle!’

  ‘Impudent little midget! Did you suggest that might be a solution they could try?’

  ‘No, Master, but I will. However, there really isn't time to put that plan into action and I don't think either Timo or Reuel will care to give Centaur the pleasure. Will you come? Timo has the bloody head and is lucky it still holds his brains and I think Reuel has the squashed foot. They were shouting some words which I've never heard before so I think they must be very bad.’

  Taur groaned and sagged resignedly against Gynevra.

  ‘Go, you little torment of my conscience. I will come.’

  A high-pitched and decidedly wicked chuckle echoed off the stone walls.

  ‘Again? But will you come get this doraba qaba on the ship?’

  ‘Go, Pog, while I'm still lying down!’

  ‘Ta’a, Master, great sire of many, great scrogger of all beautiful maidens of Atlantis!’ The air rang with his glee and his sing-song chanting of his master's prowess as he skipped and ran out of the dell. His merriment could be heard echoing on the wind long after he'd vanished.

  Gynevra caressed the stubble along Taur's jaw with an unsteady finger.

  ‘You must go?—That's very selfish of me because of course you must. The army sails for the Inland Sea tomorrow so it stands to reason their `God of Copulation' will have much to do today. Not to mention his need of rest!’ He felt her struggle to inject laughter into her voice but she couldn't entirely mask the sadness. ‘When will you return?’

  ‘Unknown,’ he murmured, bending his head to taste of her mouth one more time. ‘Farewell, Golden One. This is one Night of the Gods I'll not forget.’

  Their gazes clung, the moment pregnant with words that could never be spoken.

  Gynevra sighed softly.

  ‘I too won't forget this night. I believed I already knew what it was to be a woman. In proving me wrong you've made me a gift beyond precious. Thank you.’

  Taur felt something shimmer and contract in his chest. In all his years as a popular DragonBlood sire he'd received much in the way of wealth and adulation for his services but never a simple heartfelt thank you. Clasping Gynevra tightly against him, he rose in one swift movement and stepped into the water. To his amazement he found himself gently bathing her body, reveling in the smooth golden perfection of her. Kings and great warriors didn't demean themselves by serving others. Always they were served. It was just as well he sailed with the army at dawn. A King could be laughed off his throne for less.

  Then her hands, those instruments of silken torture, were offering him the same service and all thought of horses, thrones or war fled his mind.

  Lifting her to the edge of the pool, he spread her legs and drove into her softness with an urgency totally belying any profligacy in the spending of his life force during the night just gone. She was tight and hot and ready and he groaned with the delight of it, and she welcomed him as passionately as he could ever have wished.

  Some things were more important than horses or war.

  Chapter 9

  Struggling to find an inner peace that would sublimate the pain and guilt of the night with the joy of the morning, Gynevra settled herself in a secluded spot in the gardens where golden thyme made a springy, aromatic bed. She hadn't meant to fall asleep!
>
  Emotions a mess of repletion, guilt and anxiety, it was almost noon when she rattled the bell string by Meryan's door. The jangled sound echoed the dance of her nerves. What chance of keeping her secret from her sisters who knew her as well as she knew herself? Pulling the leather curtain aside she entered a small room identical to her own further along the hall. Phryne, curled under the rug on the low cot and Mery, drowsing on a large floor cushion, started up at once.

  ‘Gyn'a! Where were you?’

  Phryne's voice was fractious, petulant, and plainly underscored by hurt.

  Stabbed afresh by guilt at Phryne's fragile appearance, Gynevra blurted, ‘I've been sleeping!’

  ‘You weren't in your room. We looked.’

  ‘Do you want to know my whereabouts at some specific moment or do you require a detailed account of my movements since the last time you saw me? What is this? The Judgement Hall of the Elders?’

  Alarmed at her own volatility, Gynevra shut her mouth. If she couldn't remain calm she'd alert her sisters to that which she most desired to keep secret. She dropped to the bed beside Phryne. ‘Are you all right?’

  The words came out sounding more like a surly after-thought than an expression of concern. Best she took a deep breath and cleared her thinking so she could offer Phree healing, not aggravation.

  Phryne struggled upright on the bed which gave Gynevra a perfect view of the large polished obsidian teardrop hanging from the center of the golden Goddess necklace. How was she supposed to get control of her emotions with Taur's signature stone mocking her from its place of honor on Phryne's breast?

  ‘I've had healing from Ianthe. I'm sore but I'll be all right. I wanted to ask about Prince Gotham. They say he lives—and only because of the miracle of your healing.’

  Gynevra eased air into her lungs. There'd never been anything in her life she'd wanted, or needed, to keep secret from these two, nor had she ever imagined there could be. Yet she dare not speak of the events of the morning for fear Phryne's questioning would uncover the wicked secret of her mind-connection with Taur when he should have had connection only with the Goddess. It was bad enough knowing what she'd done without facing Phryne's deep hurt and knowing she'd caused it. But the health of Prince Gotham was a safe topic.