Carnal Dreams

by April Reid

  Just then, Ashlyn, with Pepper hovering overhead, rode up to his side saying, “Bandits are coming. You have to get away before they see you. They hate strangers."

  "Would I leave you unprotected?” he growled impatiently, scanning the dense stand of trees on one side of the track and the narrow cut behind them where it continued. “Do you think they'll go away without any fuss and leave you unharmed?"

  "Yes ... maybe...” She sent a nervous glance around her. “I don't know. I've never had any trouble with bandits. They must be getting desperate to come so close to a trade route."

  "We don't know what's up ahead. Turn back,” he ordered. “It's downhill."

  He cut the packhorse loose from Ashlyn's saddle to give her more freedom and a better chance to outrun her pursuers.

  When she hesitated, he shouted, “Go,” and slapped Moonstone's rump, counting on Ashlyn's riding skills to keep her in the saddle.

  Moments later, men swarmed out of concealment from behind boulders or thick brush. Basil barely had time to see Ashlyn overpowered and dragged from the saddle before a heavy net fell over him and Swiftfoot.

  He hacked at the thick, sticky-covered rope mesh, while trying to fend off attackers stabbing at him between the twisted fibers.

  Hawthorne swooped and dived overhead, searing the coarse mesh and the men with gouts of flames. Acrid smoke and the stink of battle mixed with the curses and cries of the injured bandits.

  Every limited move Swiftfoot made tangled the gelding tighter in the net. Basil pulled his feet and legs loose from the sticky mesh and dropped to the ground in time to divert a blow aimed at his mount's fragile front legs.

  Between battling for his life and protecting his horse, Basil caught glimpses of Pepper flaming Ashlyn's attackers, while she kicked and bit at the bandits trying to hold her.

  As he reached into his mind to initiate a shapeshift, a heavy blow from behind knocked him dizzy. Barely conscious, he heard an authoritative voice call, “Hold, outlander. Do not move or the woman dies."

  Anger cleared Basil's vision. He went cold at the sight of Ashlyn helpless in the hold of two burly men, while a third held a wicked-looking knife blade at her throat. No matter how quickly he could shift to dragon, it would be too slow to prevent her death.

  Careful not to move, he called, “I surrender. Release the woman."

  The knife-bearer gazed at him and finally slid the weapon into his belt sheath. “I give orders here, not you. The woman lives for now, but her life or death will depend on your actions."

  As the bandit chief prowled toward him, Basil's muscles tensed. Caught between his pledge to surrender—which held him more securely than any ropes—and the sickening knowledge that he'd failed to protect Ashlyn, he could only watch for a way out ... if he survived the next few minutes.

  The brawny leader stood over Basil and gave him a searching look. “After you pledged your surrender, I allowed you a chance to shapeshift and break your word.” He smoothed the closed wings of the brown and gold fairy-dragon on his shoulder. “My forever-friend says you can shift. Are you a coward that you didn't change shape and attempt to rescue the woman?"

  "Call me coward or fool.” Basil gave the bandit a cool look. “I keep my word as long as the one who receives it honors their promise."

  He glanced past the leader at Ashlyn, still gripped by the two rough-looking men. “Your followers continue to hold my woman in peril. Is that how you honor your word?"

  "You're bold for a man held down by a net coated with stickyhold and at the mercy of a dozen swords.” Without his gaze leaving Basil's face, the leader said, “Release the woman, but do not allow her to leave."

  "I'll take her in charge, Captain Ustim,” offered a slick-looking swordsman.

  "No, Stang. You'll try to seduce her."

  "Seduce, hell, she'll come to me as sweet as any little pussy comes when I pet her tits and fuck her ass."

  Other bandits joined in the joking, but Basil heard the undercurrent of lust running through the words. Trapped on his back by the hardening stickyhold, his view of Ashlyn was blocked by Ustim and Stang. Basil curled his fists in impotent rage. Had she been injured?

  He could only trust her safety to the leader's control of his men.

  Ustim hunkered down beside him and studied Basil's face and clothing. “By what name should I call you, outlander, when I add your capture to our history?"

  "Call me Basil Greenstorm."

  Swiftfoot, still on its feet, but tangled in the net and pressed down by the weight, let out a soft whinny.

  Helpless to give the gelding relief, Basil said, “My horse doesn't deserve to suffer, Ustim. Get him out of the devilish trap before he breaks down."

  "No attempt to bargain, outlander?"

  "Would you in my place?"

  Ustim nodded. “Well said."

  He gestured to another follower. “Release the prisoner's mount and put it with mine."

  The man came forward with a skin flask and poured a thick liquid along the path of each rope. Slowly he pulled it away from Swiftfoot's hide, then ran his hands expertly over the mount's body.

  Patting the side of Swiftfoot's neck, he said, “By tomorrow morning, this fellow will be as right as consort's pecker."

  As Swiftfoot was led away across the sparse grass and rocky ground, Ashlyn came into Basil's view flanked by the two burly captors. Her clothing was soiled and torn, but she hurried toward him without limping.

  Pepper hovered above her out of reach of the men and their swords and spears.

  Ashlyn slipped between Ustim and Stang, dropped to her knees at the edge of the net, and reached through an opening between the rope mesh to touch the side of his face.

  "You're hurt,” she said in a choked voice.

  "I've had worse.” He looked her over carefully and spotted blood oozing through a ripped shoulder seam in her tunic.

  "Who wounded you?” he said in cold fury, impotent to move in the hardened net. “I'll kill him."

  Ustim moved into Basil's line of sight. “Bold words from a prisoner unable to lift a hand."

  "Release me and I'll fight to the death with the dogfucker who injured my woman."

  "Your woman?” The bandit leader idly scratched his-fairy dragon's throat. “Are you willing to prove your claim to all my followers after we camp?"

  "I'll fight anyone you say. Anytime. Anyplace."

  "Nothing that easy.” Ustim grinned broadly. “My men enjoy a good fuck more—"

  Basil cursed.

  "You and your woman will prove you are mates by performing the ritual of fertility for all to see, but with one change ... you will be bound and dosed with quist to prevent you from shapeshifting."

  Quist. Basil sucked in a breath. The bandit chief knew he could shift, but he'd kept his ability to change to dragon form a secret, even from Ashlyn. If it came to preserving his honor or saving her from rape or death, he'd foreswear his precious honor to protect her.

  Then, once she was safe, he'd give himself to the judgment of a Cymbrian tribunal and endure the disgrace and execution or exile for losing his honor.

  * * * *

  Night had fallen while Ashlyn—hands tied behind her back, and one ankle tethered to the trunk of a blister tree by a short rope—waited for the fertility ceremony with growing apprehension.

  The bandits who'd tied her there had removed her soft boots and cut away her sleeves, but left the rest of her body covered for the time being. As one of her first captors—the one who still nursed a bite and bruises from her efforts to escape—explained, “We have to protect yer delicate tits from the blister tree sap until after the ceremony with Greenstorm."

  He'd laughed in a way that made her skin crawl and said, “Me and Snake and anyone else wantin’ a piece will get our turns to fuck you blind."

  Basil, stripped of his shirt and boots, had been tied to the same tree with his arms drawn over his head and his wrists fastened to a branch. He stood on the dirt and scattered dry leaves
and sharp twigs—his legs spread and ankles tied against the trunk.

  Only the slow movement of his bare chest as he inhaled and exhaled proved he still lived.

  Basil's eyes had remained closed and his head lolled forward ever since he'd convulsed after one of the bandits had given him too large a dose of quist. Three drops were a stimulant, but more could do irreparable harm.

  He'd been forced to swallow more.

  Had she pulled him from the waves only to see him die on this mountain? At the thought, her throat ached with despair.

  Several times she stood, careful to keep her balance, and pressed her ear to his chest, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart.

  Time had passed while the bandits set up camp and ate a leisurely meal illuminated by magical balls of light hovering overhead.

  Now they had finished eating and Stang approached her with water and roasted strips of hopper.

  The thought of food made her stomach clench. Fighting back nausea, she turned her head away.

  "Marama,” Stang said, surprising her with the term of respect, “you will need strength to survive the night."

  "Why should you care?"

  Hunkering down face to face, he gave her a careless smile. “Why not? What male doesn't like to watch a pretty lady fucking and being fucked?"

  "Go to hell,” she spat out, seething with growing anger. “You want a show? Release me and give me a knife. I'll be happy to cut off your—"

  "Cut off my balls, pretty lady, or my oh-so-proud cock? Maybe send me to hell?” His mocking smile fueled her rage. “I've been there—to all thirteen, and even the demons didn't want me."

  His smile disappeared. “Pretty marama, I know from experience that tonight will test your body and mind beyond anything you've ever known. For your sake and Greenstorm's, please eat.” Once more he offered the food and water.

  His “please” surprised her into forcing down a few bites of meat he offered and drinking the herb-laced water when he held the skin flask to her mouth.

  Rising, he propped up Basil's head with surprising care and trickled the restorative drink into his mouth. Basil's throat worked as he swallowed. Even in the pale light shed by the light globes, his face gained color.

  Willing to give the bandit his due, she said, “Thank you,” in a soft tone so only he could hear her words.

  He gave a mocking salute. “You can repay me with a hot show."

  He sauntered back to the men sprawled around the cooking fires.

  Closer to her and Basil, three bandits busily formed a rough stone ring and set fire pits at spaced intervals on the perimeter.

  Two other men pounded thick, wooden stakes into the dirt and thin grass in the center of the earthen circle.

  From time to time, one of them would look at her and make comments to the others. Their words—piece of ass, wet pussy, hot tits, and tight butt rose—carried to her in the clear, quiet air.

  "Ignore them,” Basil said quietly. His steady gaze searched her body and face, brushing over her like a caress.

  "You're conscious.” Struggling to her feet, she gazed at his alert expression and the tenderness in his eyes. “Thanks be to the Goddess and consort."

  Careful to keep her balance so she wouldn't press his bare back any tighter against the blister bark, she gave him a kiss filled with all her pent-up anxiety and relief.

  His mouth took hers hungrily and he strained forward against the ropes, pressing at her lips with his tongue.

  Meeting his kiss fire for fire, she opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside. They tangled in a hot, sweet duel. Desire shot to lust and her body tightened—clenched—from throat to pussy. To her edgy delight, woman's honey wet her panties, and even tied as he was, Basil's erection pressed against her stomach.

  Basil broke their kiss long enough to gasp, “When we're free, I'm going to take you so deep we won't know where one ends and the other begins."

  "I'll hold you to your promise.” She bit him gently on the chin, then slid her mouth lower to one coppery nipple and wrapped her tongue around the hard tip. He tasted of salt and male sweat—his sweat with the faint trace of the spicy quist as it worked out of his skin.

  Aroused by his low groan, she licked her way across his slick chest to his other nipple. Her shoulders ached from her hands still bound behind her back. The scratch on her shoulder throbbed. A streak of blisters raised on her arms by the tree, burned, but they all blended into an aching desire to feel him in her mouth, between her legs—for him to take her in every way possible.

  A sudden jerk on her ankle rope made her fall onto the hard, cold dirt and leaves. Rough hands turned her over, face up and she felt a sharp blade at her throat. Not again. She went still and sucked in a breath to hide her fear and anger.

  Stang stepped into view. “Gently, Baldo,” he said in a bored tone. “Don't bruise the bitch, unless Greenstorm tries to fight."

  While he was speaking, other bandits cut Basil loose from the tree and prodded him, with cudgels, toward the circle. He lost his balance, fell, and was dragged back to his feet in a flurry of blows and curses.

  Except for trying to protect his face and head, he didn't fight back, and she knew why; he took the blows because of the bandits’ threats to her.

  Ustim strolled into her sight, blocking her view of the circle, and towered over where she lay on the ground. He gestured for the knife-holder to move back, then he hunkered down close.

  In a low, threatening tone, he said, “I have learned who you are, daughter of Galatyn Priam Toscano. Many of my men have suffered greatly, even lost their families because of decisions made by your father and other mages in the Circle of Seven. If they learn your identity, nothing will stop them from raping and killing you for revenge."

  Standing, he said in a louder voice, “Cut her loose. It's time for her to buy hers and Greenstorm's lives.

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  CHAPTER 4

  Ashlyn shivered in the cool night wind blowing across the forest clearing. Her ropes had been removed and her clothes stripped away, then dropped at her feet.

  Ustim had stopped her in the shadows at the edge of the trees, where even light from the moons was lost in the thick cover of leaves. “Daughter of Galatyn,” he'd said, “if you wish to last the night, give my men a good show. Let them feel each time you fist Greenstorm's cock. Arouse him, fuck him and make him fuck you until you're both limp—then do it again—or I'll let Baldo and my other men loose on you both."

  With Ustim's threat still giving her chills, Ashlyn studied the setting for hers and Basil's ordeal.

  Flames leaped and snapped in the fire pits at four points of the stone-edged circle. A hollow log had been set outside the fire directly across from her. Earlier, she'd watched and heard two men test its resonance with long, thick clubs.

  Magical light globes floated overhead, like those that had illuminated the circle of the Moon Goddess during the celebration of Ostara in New Caledon. That sacred circle near the ocean had carried the promise of life.

  This unconsecrated, profane circle in the wild mountains spoke of pain, rape, and death. A promise made more real by the rowdy bandits seated on the rough ground or standing around the edge.

  Basil, the focus of their taunts and curses, lay naked and spread-eagled on the dirt and sparse grass—hands and feet once more bound—this time to the wooden stakes driven into the rocky soil. The light spilling across his muscular body revealed fresh scrapes and dried blood.

  Turning on Ustim, she said, “You're an oath-breaker. After our capture, we offered no resistance to you or your men, but they broke your pledge when they beat him."

  "They did it, not me."

  "Did you order them to stop?” Righteous anger made her bold and she stepped closer to him. “You're their chief and gave your promise."

  Ustim reached up to smooth his fairy-dragon, but the little male hissed and moved away, finally taking to the air.

  The bandit chief gave her a
dark look. “Who the hell are you that even my forever-friend deserts me at your displeasure?"

  "He understands right and wrong. You should pay closer attention."

  Ustim glared at her.

  Her head thrown back in defiance, she stared back, while frantically searching for a way to help Basil. “Goddess and consort will hold you accountable for breaking an oath,” she said, “but according to the teachings of the Moon Goddess, if you show goodwill by allowing a woman to minister to the aggrieved party's injuries, the Goddess will be lenient."

  Ashlyn hoped Ustim had only a sketchy knowledge of the teachings.

  "What do you suggest?” he asked. “Not even the wrath of the Moon Goddess will make me release you and Greenstorm."

  "Give me water and a cloth to clean his wounds and soothing oils for healing. Those actions will show your goodwill."

  She felt the weight of his gaze on her and forced herself to stand quietly, when everything within her clamored to rush to Basil.

  "You may have water.” Ustim nudged her clothes with a foot. “Use one garment for cloth."

  "Thank you, sir,” she said humbly. Her heart danced at even this small victory.

  "Someone bring a flask of water for the woman."

  As he finished speaking, the bandit's fairy-dragon fluttered back down to his shoulder and settled its wings with little flip.

  "Here, Captain.” Stang emerged from the thicker section of trees carrying a skin flask and gave it to her so quickly she wondered if he'd been listening to the whole conversation.

  As if reading her thoughts, he murmured, “Of course."

  Then she put him and Ustim out of her mind and focused on Basil.

  * * * *

  Basil lay stretched and staked out on the dirt and rocks like, he thought, a dragosaur ready to be skinned of its pelt.

  He could ignore the curses and taunting threats hurled at him by the bandits waiting outside the circle of stones. He'd long since learned to ignore pain, but he was tormented by what would happen to Ashlyn if he didn't find a way to help her escape.

  Once again, he turned his thoughts inward to the part of his mind that controlled his ability to shift forms.