A Warrior's Heart

by DL O'Neal

  "I cannot do it."

  She bowed her head, defeat in every line of her body. "I am sorry, my lord, but I just cannot do it." She jumped a little when he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

  "What's the problem, bondwife?" He began massaging the tense muscles. She was rigid.

  Disappointment clogged her throat, making it almost impossible to understand her. "The two images are juxtaposed, confusing me. I look up expecting to see one thing, yet see another. I cannot merge the two, overlay one with the other to find the cave."

  Drakthe pulled her back, cradling her in his strength. "Then, the solution is simple, bondwife. Do not look with your eyes." He covered her eyes with his hands. "Instead, look into the crystal and allow your path to become the Advisor's."

  "What of the vines? If I do not watch where I am going, I will become entangled."

  Drakthe spoke into her ear, reminding her, "I do have some experience with details."

  Her shoulders relaxed and she leaned against him for a moment. Beneath his palms, Drakthe felt her lashes flutter against his skin as she closed her eyes. Without the slightest hint of reservations, she stepped out.

  Drakthe wondered if Cheyna had any conception what her trust did to him. Knowing his House-daughter, she didn't. Her faith in him was a miracle he found hard to accept. Not, he admitted ironically to himself, that he had any intention of giving it up. Trust was a precious commodity in his life. He'd kill to keep his House-daughter's.

  His lips twisted.

  His House-daughter would do more than scold if she read his mind right now. She wouldn't give him a moment's peace until he'd conceded violence wasn't conducive to Consonance. Drakthe chuckled silently.

  Unless, of course, he distracted her by persuading her to teach him the next level of Sai and Kai.

  He paced alongside, touching her only when he needed her to pause so he could clear away the vines. Drakthe marveled at the unerring way Cheyna walked into the snarl of vines, creepers, and fronds. A bead of sweat ran down her temple and disappeared under the collar of her tunic as the jungle swallowed them up, leaving no discernable trail behind.

  Drakthe kept a close eye on her, mindful of her poor ability to cope with humidity. He wouldn't soon forget seeing her sway and almost pass out. Although flushed, her face lacked the hectic color indicating true distress.

  She halted before a massive green wall. "Here," Cheyna stated, opening her eyes. She reached out and touched the mass confidently.

  She had to be kidding. There was nothing here but more jungle. He brushed a leaf with his finger and swore when it sliced through the skin. The blasted things were sharper than most blades. Sucking on his finger, he sent a questioning glance in her direction.

  "Here," she repeated.

  Here, she said. Drakthe gave a mental shrug and began slashing. The tangle of vines and creepers were loathed to reveal their secrets, and reinforced that reluctance with leaves that cut like glass and thorns that scored the unwary. By the time he'd carved an opening, Drakthe was breathing hard and bleeding from a myriad small cuts and gashes. He yanked at a final wall of vines.

  Dank, musty air rushed out of the exposed opening.

  He palmed a cryslight and held it up. Small puddles, some covered with scum, dappled the floor of the cave. Tiny creatures scurried from the glare of light. Drakthe didn't think he cared to know what they were. He preferred to keep a healthy distance from anything with ten or more legs. Quelling his distaste, he stepped inside, closing his ears to the tiny crunching sounds under his boots.

  Cheyna was hard on his heels, dogging his every footstep, her hand fisted in his tunic. With a small grin, he noted she couldn't have been any closer than if she were to become his shadow.

  The cave sloped back to form a narrow corridor. Drakthe groaned inwardly. Another thing he wasn't particularly fond of were small, confined places. When you were his size, you were all too conscious of such things. He had a mental flash of getting stuck, unable to go forward or back.

  Not a pleasant thought. Drakthe hunched his shoulders and bent his head until his chin practically touched his chest. No, not a pleasant thought at all. He went forward.

  The third time Cheyna stepped on his heel, Drakthe couldn't contain a low growl of annoyance. "Watch it."

  "Sorry," she apologized, and immediately stepped on his heel again.

  A breath of air couldn't get between them. Her hand moved to his baldric when the shape of the corridor forced her to move backwards a bit.

  Drakthe grunted. Several times, he had to wriggle his shoulders through a particularly constricted turn. He cursed as the rough stone scraped the tender scars on his back. His bondwife was going to have to do some fast talking if it turned out the memory crystal wasn't here. He bit back another curse as his forehead painfully discovered a protruding ledge. Some very fast talking, he thought, rubbing the sore spot.

  Drakthe carved a notch, one of a series, in the wall to mark their passage, wincing each time the blade scraped stone. One way or the other, Cheyna was bound and determined to make him ruin the edge on his krees. Better the edge, though, than an existence in this dark, dank place. Since he didn't like caves, he had made it his business to know about them. Caves, he'd learned, often meandered deceptively, with additional chambers and corridors branching off unexpectedly, making it easy to become forever lost if not careful.

  He was a very careful man.

  To his immense relief, the corridor widened. He began breathing easier. Cheyna scooted back into position as his shadow. Her hands latched onto his waist and her nails bit into his skin. He'd have marks for sure. Drakthe grimaced. Just what he needed, more scars. He reached back and pried her fingernails out of his flesh, giving her his tunic to grasp instead. She grabbed it in a death grip.

  Two more steps and they were out of the corridor. He straightened, working his shoulders to get the kinks out of his spine, only to stop mid stretch.

  "Now, why am I not surprised to see this memory crystal encased in volcanic ice?"

  Chapter 17

  Ahead of her, Drakthe signaled a halt. They had been climbing at a steady pace for the past three hours and the taigers were breathing hard. Sweat darkened their light mahogany hides to near black. Her little female barely had the energy to flick her tail at the constant flux of small, annoying flies.

  "How much farther, House-daughter?" he asked, wiping his forehead as his eyes swept the area around them.

  Her bondhusband was getting impatient, and to be honest Cheyna couldn't blame him. After Drakthe used his krees to remove the second pouch from the ice--without argument this time--she hadn't asked him to link in order to share directions, and he hadn't offered.

  She glanced back at the trail winding down the mountain. The towering trees below looked like a cub's toys. Truth was, she had not dared invite him to view the crystal. He would be most displeased to learn the directions provided by the new crystal, a blunt triangular shape whose edges undulated like a distorted image in an ill-made mirror, lacked a certain clarity this time.

  So she stalled. "Not much farther, my lord."

  He turned to face her. "How much farther?" he asked again.

  His silent perusal made her uncomfortable. She avoided meeting his too-shrewd gaze.

  "Cheyna."

  A little gust of air escaped her as she sighed. She should have known better. Drakthe didn't give up once set upon a particular course, a most annoying habit at times. "I am uncertain."

  "Explain."

  The fine hairs on the nape of her neck lifted. Cheyna stifled the urge to lift a hand and smooth them. Her voice quivered, betraying her serene expression.

  "I am reasonably certain we are within a ten-day, but cannot pinpoint it more precisely than that."

  "You're reasonably certain we're within a ten-day," he repeated in that same, quiet tone.

  Cheyna's hand tensed on the reins. Breathe, she reminded herself, breathe. But she couldn't seem to relax her grip
on the reins.

  "We are retracing a path through someone else's eyes," he said, biting off each word, "and all you can say it that you are reasonably certain we are close?"

  A little shiver traced its way down her spine. Now, she knew, would not be a good time to inform Drakthe yet another memory crystal existed. His patience was wearing dangerously thin.

  "Explain to me, bondwife, how it is you are only 'reasonably certain'."

  Cheyna licked her lips. "Shwna, the Raipierian advisor who imprinted the directions, seems to have been, uh, she seems to have been deliberately cryptic." She waited for the explosion.

  His voice grew even more restrained. Cheyna knew then how close to the edge his temper was.

  "You didn't think this was important enough to bring to my attention?"

  Cheyna winced at the soft, savage bite to his question. "That is not it at all, my lord. Drakthe," she corrected quickly, hoping to appease a part of his fury.

  "Oh?" he drawled, and pinned her with a burning gold gaze. "You mean, after dragging me halfway across this benighted continent, searching for this mystical Crystal Sheathe that will save Consonance, you've decided we have all the time in the world? That we can just amble around the continent, enjoying the sights?"

  The Merchant Master was determined to be difficult.

  Guilt ate at Cheyna. Too late, she recognized that telling Drakthe the full truth would have been better. "What good would telling you have done, my lord?" she asked.

  Drakthe's jaw clenched, a muscle working in it. He stared straight ahead. "We could have linked. You could have shown me through your eyes. You might have taken into consideration that I am somewhat familiar with the North Continent, that landmarks which mean nothing to you, might hold meaning to me."

  He turned to face her.

  "That, House-daughter, is what good it could have done."

  Cheyna hung her head. He was right. She had not considered all aspects of her actions. "I apologize," she said, her hands crossed formally at her waist.

  He nodded curtly. "Do you think you might tell me what we're looking for?" he asked, so polite it hurt.

  Cheyna tamped down a spurt of anger at his continued obdurateness. "Shwna indicated a sleeping drquon guards the secret of the Crystal Sheathe."

  He was, Drakthe decided, getting sick and tired of hidden messages and cryptic clues. Once, just once, he'd liked something spelled out in a straightforward manner. He fought against the urge to yell at Cheyna. His chest hurt with the effort. "Any idea what that means?"

  She shook her head, the rays of the sun catching her braids and giving them the depth and color of aged rantanth wine.

  Images of last eve rose to taunt Drakthe. For the last several ten-days, ever since she realized the foreign touch was gone, Cheyna had ceased to fight his lovemaking. To put it bluntly, his bondwife had become as insatiable as he was.

  His groin reacted with a will of its own.

  Now is not the time, he ordered his body. As usual, it ignored him. Lately, it displayed a willful penchant to react to his bondwife regardless of circumstances. All she had to do was turn her head or flash her eyes at him, and he wanted her with an intensity he found disconcerting.

  Drakthe began counting the clouds in the sky, willing his recalcitrant hunger in check. Cheyna leaned over and placed her hand on his thigh. Desire exploded out of control.

  In one continuous action, he dismounted and, before Cheyna knew what was going on, had his hands around her waist and was lifting her down.

  "Drakthe?"

  His mind slid into hers with an ease that at any other time would have shocked him.

  "Come to me. I need you."

  Her hands, half lifted, fell to her sides.

  "That's it, bondwife. Let me do all the work." He unfastened the toggles on her tunic. His breath caught in the back of his throat when he spread the tunic, opening the porcelain beauty of her body to his eyes.

  "You're so beautiful," unsure whether he whispered the words aloud or into her mind. He slipped the material the rest of the way off her shoulders.

  "Just like a thella." Drakthe lowered his head and touched his mouth to her shoulder. The tip of his tongue darted out and tasted the translucent skin. A groan worked up from the depths of his being, and his mouth opened wider.

  "You taste as wild and spicy and sweet as honey crystals from the darquella flower." He slid his mouth down, to the delicate fullness of her breast, and traced the fragile network of veins just visible beneath the skin. "So sweet," he growled in a deep-throated purr, and closed his mouth over the nipple.

  Her knees buckled and Drakthe swept her up in his arms. Without lifting his mouth from her breast, he walked under the sheltering umbrella of an ancient osk tree, knelt, and with reverent gentleness, placed her on a bed of moss.

  She moaned and tossed her head when he began lavishing the same attention to the other breast.

  He smiled against her warmth.

  She arched wildly and hunger muted the smile.

  "Put your arms above your head," he instructed.

  Eyes closed, breath coming quickly from between her parted lips, Cheyna complied.

  The sun, strong enough to penetrate the dense growth of leaves, dappled the opalescent paleness of her body with ever-shifting, ever-changing shadows. The heat of the day coated Cheyna in a fine sheen of sweat.

  Drakthe's heart thundered at the sight.

  He couldn't control the faint tremor that caused his hands to shake as he ran them down to the waistband of her trousers. Then again, he admitted silently, he was rarely in control around Cheyna. The thought didn't bother him near as much as it should have.

  Her legs shifted restlessly. Her arms came down, blindly reaching for him.

  "No."

  As she had done to him in the cave when she'd made love to him without physically touching him, Drakthe mentally snagged her wrists and stretched them above her head again.

  "No. Leave them there."

  Her lashes lifted heavily, blue eyes hot as the sun gleamed from between the thick, scarlet fringe. She relaxed, went as boneless as an oker basking on a riverbank. Her eyes beckoned him to come bask in her warmth.

  It was an invitation Drakthe had no intention of refusing.

  Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he slid her trousers down long legs, then whisked them completely off. His hands, rough from years of work and warfare, slid inch by inch back up the way they'd came. He explored the curve of her calf, the intriguing hollow behind her knee, the silky smoothness of her inner thighs. Just when he neared the damp curls, he began the journey again.

  But this time his mouth trailed lazily behind.

  She gasped when the tip of his tongue nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her knee. Drakthe wanted to play all day, to explore each and every inch of her body, again and again, before finally allowing them both the soaring satisfaction hiding just around the corner.

  His body had other ideas.

  Passion tightened his lower body to an unbearable fullness. His manhood, trapped by the snug trousers, throbbed an increasingly insistent message. He shed his clothes but determinedly ignored the urge to hurry.

  His hands spanned her hips, his fingers sinking into the soft roundness of her bottom. He closed his teeth with exquisite gentleness on the flesh of her inner thigh. She shifted beneath the provocative caress, her legs spreading in mute invitation. Her arousal, hot, sweet, spicy and all Cheyna, rose to tantalize him.

  Unable to resist any longer, his mouth closed on her with devastating intimacy. He nipped at the swollen bud nestled in the scarlet curls, before he laved the ultra sensitive flesh with his tongue.

  "Sweet, so sweet."

  Hot, damp need curled through him as passion spilled over from Cheyna to him.

  "Drakthe!"

  His name was a siren's song in his mind.

  Beneath his palm, her stomach muscles clenched convulsively, the reaction echoed and magnified against the teasing fingers inside her
sheath.

  Drakthe flowed up and over Cheyna, covering and entering her in one smooth, strong thrust. His mouth fastened on hers as his fingers entwined with hers. Palm to palm, mouth to mouth, hip to hip, he led her in a dance as old as time and as new as today. Head thrown back, the muscles in his neck straining, he clenched his teeth against the need to quicken the pace. She closed neat, white teeth on the muscle padding his shoulder.

  Drakthe reacted as if touched by pure prisma fire. His hips drove forward one last time.

  A strangled shout caught in his throat as his essence flooded Cheyna. Drakthe was barely aware of his bondwife curling her legs around his waist, locking his hips to hers with unexpected strength. Only when he collapsed against her, his face buried next to her damp shoulder, too exhausted to even roll off and relieve her of his weight, did he became aware his ears were ringing with her shout of fulfillment.

  Drakthe's mouth curved.

  His bondwife would be mortified to learn she was so undisciplined.

  His smile widened, becoming an outright grin.

  He couldn't wait to tell her.

  "My lord?"

  Drakthe felt too satiate to chastise her for not using his name. He snuggled his head deeper into the elegant curve formed by her neck and shoulder.

  "Hmm?"

  Drakthe realized Cheyna sounded tentative. His eyes opened, though he didn't move his head from its comfortable position. Perhaps his bondwife had just realized how uninhibited she had been.

  The urge to tease grew.

  "I do not think he is too happy we are occupying his bed."

  Drakthe's head shot up.

  "What?"

  He saw Cheyna staring off to one side and turned his head to follow her line of vision.

  Bracketed by leaves, a pair of tiny red eyes stared back.

  "Ssss."

  Drakthe had not the slightest doubt at whom the diminutive creature was fussing. It boldly moved out from its hiding place, scurrying forward and scrambling up onto Cheyna's shoulder. Its scaly hide was a mottled green and muddy brown, except for a bright splash of yellow fur at its throat.