by Wilde, Kati
So fucked he was.
“Step up here on the seat,” he said, voice raw with hunger. With her feet in the bottom of the boat, she was at an awkward angle to his mouth. Yet if she stood on the bench where he sat, a perfect height she would be.
She stepped up between his thighs, gripping his shoulder when the dinghy rocked again. “It wobbles.”
“I will hold you steady,” he vowed, and so he did, taking her hips in a firm grip as she rose before him.
Again she looked down at him, though not imperiously. Instead he only saw nervousness and curiosity and arousal. And the deliberately haughty tone she put into her voice as she said, “You may taste me now, warrior,” only made him grin.
As did the realization of why she called him ‘warrior.’ “Do you not wish to know the name of the man who is feasting on your cunt?”
She blinked, as if that had not occurred to her. Then she gave him a considering look. “I don’t think so, no.”
Yet the way she flattened her lips together, as if repressing a smile, and the dimple that suddenly appeared in her cheek said that she only teased him.
He could tease, too. “Pull up your shift.”
Immediately her lips softened and parted. Her breathing deepened. With fingers at her hips, she ruched the silk upward, baring her upper thighs an inch at a time, then the cleft between. Standing as she was, her thighs pressed together, he saw nothing of her deeper cunt. Only the slit at the front that nestled her pretty clit—but that was all he needed to make her come.
Already she glistened with her need—and completely bare she was. “Is this a princess’s cunt? They pamper and groom you even here?”
“No,” she said softly. “I was being prepared for marriage.”
For another man to look upon her. But she was his.
She gave a soft cry of surprise as he abruptly dragged her forward, and his mouth opened against her, his tongue slicking into that little slit. He groaned in pleasure at the first taste of her wetness. Salty she was from the sea, yet her flavor beneath was so sweet and heady.
Her body trembled violently as, with broad strokes of his tongue, Aruk teased her clit before sucking that pretty bud between his lips. A guttural sound she made, curling forward and releasing her grip on the silk to grab fistfuls of his hair.
“Warrior,” she gasped. “Warrior.”
With a growl low in his throat, he tore his ravenous mouth from her cunt and angled his head back to look up at her. Flushed she was, panting, her hair hanging around her face.
“Oh, do not stop.” With urgent hands, she tried to shove his head back down. “Do not stop.”
Unmoved, Aruk only waited, her sweetness on his tongue and lips, hungry for her cunt but hungrier still for something else.
She gave him a sudden dour look and tugged at his hair. “Then what do I call you, warrior?”
He grinned. “Aruk.”
“Aruk,” she repeated softly, and the fingers of her right hand let go of his hair to trace a path along his jaw. “So sweet a night with you will be.”
Fierce ache gripped his heart. Roughly he dragged her to his mouth again. This, the only taste he would have. So much better it was than his imaginings, with her fingernails digging into his scalp and the helpless rocking of her hips against his face. Her knees gave out and he held her up, sucking and licking her clit, his fingers digging into the soft cheeks of her ass. More frantic her movements became. His name she said, again and again, her voice high with frantic wonder. Then she stilled all at once, her soft flesh convulsing against his tongue, her teeth clenched on a scream.
Tremors slipped through her as he sucked on her clit again, and she pushed at his head. “Stop,” she panted. “Please stop.”
Too sensitive now. So no more would Aruk have, unless he hurt her.
Never would he do that.
With a last deep inhalation of her scent, he drew back, letting the silk fall into place to cover her. A fool he was to have done this. For he had told himself there were some things he would not do to spend a night in her arms—such as kill a king who did not deserve killing.
Yet now, after this taste of her…Aruk could think of almost nothing that he wouldn’t do for another lick. And that a mere taste. To have her for one sweet night? To fuck her so deep and hard and feel her cling to him, calling his name?
He might do anything.
4
Jalisa the Selfish
The Illwind Sea
Jalisa was still trembling from the pleasure of Aruk’s mouth when they reached her ship. This freedom she had now was so fine, indeed. For when she was the princess her father wanted her to be, never could she have followed her desire and let a warrior lick her cunt. And so wonderful it had been. He’d been so hungry for her—and never had the pleasure of her own touch approached the ecstasy of his.
Oh, how incredible it would be when she could always follow her own desire, without regard for what anyone else wanted her to do. Especially if she desired a man such as Aruk.
A better sailor Aruk was than she, more familiar with boats, for he didn’t fumble with the ropes and pulleys that secured the dinghy.
He looked up alongside the ship, frowning. “Where is your crew?”
“I have no crew.”
“A ship of this size must have a crew.”
She shook her head. “This ship is spelled to always sail on the finest winds, wherever I want it to go.”
Darkly he scowled. “That is no simple spell. And dangerous.”
So it was. “I paid a great deal for it.”
“What of the scaling? How did you ward against it for a boat of this size?”
Because a spell always had a consequence. If a spell healed, it was by stealing health from somewhere else. If it strengthened, it was by stealing strength from somewhere else. And never could the scaling of those spells be predicted, whether the consequence was large or small. Healing a broken bone might only scale and leave a bruise on someone else—someone who was unprotected from the scaling, which might be anyone who didn’t wield magic—or it might break that person in half.
“For fair winds,” Aruk continued, “somewhere else will receive foul winds. When was this ship spelled? Six months past?”
“You think it caused the storm that swept you here?” Jalisa shook her head. “Sometimes, warrior, the weather is just the weather. And it was two months past that the ship was spelled.”
He did not like it. That she could see. But she had not tossed magic about carelessly. She would not risk such a scaling to harm innocents, either.
His arms bulged with corded muscle as he hauled the dinghy into place. They climbed to the main deck, treading across the weathered gray boards. He looked around them doubtfully. “You meant to sail three months on this wreck?”
She could not have bought a yacht without her father knowing. So it was a fisherman’s ship, old but sturdy. “It is seaworthy.”
“Barely.” He tapped a knuckle against the mast as if to check it for dry rot. “Who made the spell for you?”
So he was not off of that yet? He seemed more bothered by knowing this spell had been cast then when she’d described what her father was.
“A witch of the Dead Lands.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “What do you know of witches?”
More than anyone else in Savadon, for witches were not commonly in these western realms. Almost everyone born in the Dead Lands was born with great ability to cast spells and magic within them. As Aruk had been. That glowing symbol on his side was proof of the magic in him.
Yet those from the Dead Lands also believed that the magic slowly pushed the world out of balance until there was a disastrous Reckoning. And so most bound their magic to their skin with a small rune, and they deliberately never learned the spoken spells that would bend the world to their will.
Yet some still did. The witches, who were all highly respected within the Dead Lands. For they did not bind their magic, and they kne
w spells, yet only in the most dire of circumstances would use them—such as a child dying of infection or sickness, or the most fatal of injuries. Because most injuries would heal. They simply took time and patience and left a scar.
Outside of the Dead Lands, spells were used more carelessly. Healers were common even for the most minor of pains. But because the scaling could not be known, healers always resided in warded chambers or huts, so the consequences of the magic could not escape and harm an innocent person. And within that hut, the healer would keep small animals such as mice or insects for the scaling to target.
Yet a ship could not fit in a warded chamber. So Aruk believed that an innocent must have been affected by the scaling.
“A witch would never cast a spell on a ship like this,” he said.
That was true. But still, a witch was the reason Jalisa had known the spell. But she thought this warrior might disapprove of how she’d cast it even more vehemently than he disapproved of the spell already.
“Do you think kindness and love would keep it afloat?” she teased him. For those were the magics that had no scaling. Pure they were, working change not by stealing from elsewhere, but by adding themselves to the world, like a low flame beneath a pot of water, slowly warming it.
Though in truth...kindness and love would keep this boat afloat. Because this spell had not been of pure magic, but everything Jalisa had been taught of magic was born from love.
As if she thought he mocked him with mention of true magic and love, Aruk cast her a dark look, shaking his head. “How do we sail?”
“With but a thought from its captain.” Which she gave now. The breeze suddenly picked up, filling the sails. The creaking ship began to slide across the water.
And though he disliked the magic behind it, the spell was done. No more fine winds would be stolen to create it.
“You should take the ship!” she called over the new sound of rushing water against the bow. “When my father is dead and your duty calls you away!”
For that is what Aruk had said—he could not marry because of duty. And his voyage had been interrupted, so after his job for her was done, he would sail away again.
Now the thought of his leaving filled her chest with a tight ache. “Will you ever return to Savadon, warrior?”
He grunted, jaw tight. “You told me that I should not.”
“It would not be so dangerous with my father dead.” She grinned at him, fluttering her lashes. “And if you please me in my bed the first night, perhaps I would take you again.”
So fierce and determined his expression became. “I would please you so well that you will abandon your plan to take many others to your bed.”
“Well, I would not take them all at once!” she teased. “Or perhaps I would. When I am queen, who is to tell me how to behave?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Will you be a selfish queen, then, demanding men to warm your bed—so that I might have to return to you for different reason?”
To kill another tyrant, as her father was. Hurt speared through her then. He spoke as if she would take lovers without regard for whether they wanted her or not. As if she would order them to her bed instead of only seeking the same pleasure that he’d given by wanting her so much.
Tightly she said, “If what I do harms no one, what issue do you have?”
“You think those you take to your bed will not fall in love with you and be destroyed when you are done with them? That is no harm?”
She laughed, though beneath it lay pain, sharpening. “Is that all it takes to fall in love? Are you not in danger, then, for asking to spend a night with me? Suddenly the fee you wanted seems not so insignificant or so cheap. I did not know one night would earn me your heart.”
Though they both knew it would not. So she did not know why he suddenly disapproved of her hope that she would find love and pleasure in someone’s arms. For he was not staying to give it.
“You are welcome to the ship,” she said tautly when he gave no immediate response. “We will add it to your fee. What duty did you say calls you away?”
“Aremond’s tournament,” he said, voice harsh.
She knew of that tournament. Dozens of warriors had passed through Savadon on their way to seek some relic in the realms north of the Illwind Sea. Whoever brought the relic back to Aremond won the tournament’s prize—a pile of gold.
The pile of gold that Aruk had refused from her. And he was so far behind the others, he must have already lost. Unless he meant to ambush and steal the relic from the victor as they made their way back to Aremond.
“And is that what you will do? Return to that tournament route?”
He nodded. “It is.”
Her heart constricted. And she understood him not at all. “Did you not say—”
The bow tipped up suddenly, throwing her back. Aruk’s strong arms caught her.
“What was that?” The sails were still full, yet the boat had stopped. “Did we hit a rock?”
Which should not have happened. The spell made this ship always sail true.
“I do not think so,” Aruk said slowly, eyes fixed ahead. “You ought to have spelled this ship against sea monsters, too.”
Jalisa gasped in horror. A huge gray tentacle was coiling around the bow. Enormous it was, slick and pulsating, the suckers hungrily seeking.
A monster squid. Which could tear apart ships, so the vessels spilled out contents and passengers, and the squid could feast at will. Frantically she looked to the stern, where another tentacle had begun winding over the deck.
Not a hint of fear did she hear in Aruk’s voice when it rumbled in her ear. “Do you have any weapons aboard?”
“No.”
“What did you intend to do if you came across pirates?”
“Not fight them! I would make the ship outrun them.”
But already that option was too late. The winds blew, but even spelled winds could not free a ship from the grip of a monster squid.
Aruk led her to the ship’s mast. “Hold tight to this,” he told her. “I must kill the monster before those tentacles rip apart the timbers.”
“Kill it with what?”
From the small bundle he’d brought from the island, he showed her a palm-sized stone with a sharp edge. “This razor I made.”
“Do you mean to give the monster a shave with that little blade?”
His teeth flashed in a broad grin. “It sliced into my face often enough, so it will likely also slice into a squid’s. Hold fast to that mast until I return.”
With smooth stride, he moved to the edge of the deck and leapt up onto the gunwale as if his thick muscles were made of springs. He looked down into the water, and a hearty laugh broke from him.
“It is my old friend! Perhaps he has waited for me all this time—but this day, I will not stop after cutting off only one arm. It is this monster’s day to die!”
And with stone blade clenched between his teeth, Aruk dove in.
5
Aruk the Wrecked
The Illwind Sea
Aruk had heard that monster squids had memories as long as their arms. True that seemed now, for apparently the squid had left the deep sea to lay in wait for him near the island. He knew not if the squid intended vengeance for the lost arm, but whatever feud between them lay in that foul brain, Aruk would end it today.
Under the water was a slithering mass of tentacles. A firm grip on the ship it had—and the vessel was already lost, Aruk saw. Timbers beneath the waterline had splintered and cracked. No spell for fair winds would prevent water from filling the hold and sinking them to the bottom of the sea.
He surfaced again. His disobedient princess stood not at the mast but clinging to the rail, her wide-eyed terror melting into relief when she saw him. “Throw everything into the dinghy and drop it free of the ship!” he called to her.
“I will!” She spun and disappeared from his sight.
With a screech of wood, the ship splintered in half, the c
enter popping upward, the bow and stern tipping downward into the water. Cursing, Aruk dove under, stone knife in hand.
Broken planks rained down through the water, sharpened edges like wooden daggers. Feet kicking, Aruk arrowed through the water to the center mass of those tentacles. All the arms were wrapped around the ship—and so the squid’s great eye was unprotected.
As he dove toward it, his own face he saw reflected in that black orb, a mask of rage and purpose. He plunged the stone blade into the fleshy eye. Blood spilled out like ink, blinding him with black clouds. The squid began to thrash, convulsing tentacles still wrapped around the ends of the ship, tearing apart the two ends and flinging them about.
And Jalisa was still aboard.
Aruk’s heart pounded with sudden fear, his lungs were afire, but the squid was not dead yet. Deeper he shoved his arm, hacking into the monster’s brain.
All went still.
Aruk jerked his arm free and kicked for the surface. He broke through on a great heaving gasp for air, and in the next breath shouted, “Jalisa!”
The ship was scattered over gentle waves. He struck for the dinghy, swimming fast. Gripping the side, he heaved himself up and looked into the small boat. She had managed to toss his bundle into the bottom but no more.
“Jalisa!”
His frantic gaze scanned the wreckage. There she was—clinging to a floating plank. Unmoving, facedown. Crimson blood soaked her silk shift.
No. Painful dread split through his chest. He raced through the water, diving beneath wreckage too big to push aside. At her side he surfaced, praying to all the gods as he gently lifted her head from the plank to see her face.
She still breathed. His heart began beating again, then stopped as he saw her injury. A splintered piece of wood the length of a short sword had pierced her side.
He had once been stabbed in the same place. It was not a fatal wound. But it would be if he did not get her out of the water.