by Milla Vane
But even clamped lips could not muffle the sound she made as his hand slipped forward over her hip and delved beneath her cloak. The moment his deft fingers found her clitoris, agonizing pleasure sheared her nerves and her soft cry broke free.
Immediately she stilled, her gaze darting past the curtain. No movement.
Except Maddek’s hand and his cock, which continued stroking her from the front and from behind. Except his mouth, pinching her earlobe again before murmuring harshly, “They know not to look. Scream if you like.”
Her reply was a ragged whisper. “I cannot.”
Releasing her wrists, his big hand covered her panting mouth. “Then bite me to stay quiet if you must.”
Oh, she could not. Would not. But his palm muffled the cries that passed her lips as he set a relentless rhythm, his hardened shaft spearing through the sultry lips of her cunt, his fingers licking like fire over her clitoris, the burn so deep now within her, raging out of control.
Maddek had been right—she could hardly bear this. She had thought release would be sweet, like the cool rain upon her burning face. But if this was a summer storm, it was rolling toward her on dark clouds filled with lightning, each stroke of his fingers a flash that drew her body tighter and tighter, anticipating and fearing the crash that followed. Frantically she gripped the strong wrist pressed tight to her belly, trying to shove his hand away, to find some relief from the ruthless torment of his fingers, but it was as if she tried to move a mountain. Then the storm was upon her, a crack of thunder that split her body asunder, an endless rumbling quake through stiffened muscles, and in its devastating wake she was left breathless, shaking.
And given no time to recover before she was pushed over onto her stomach, Maddek’s fingers still stroking her clitoris. He braced his left hand beside her head as his heavy body covered hers, and his demand was growled into her ear. “Again.”
She could not possibly. But she lay upon his hand and his fingers commanded more. A scream rose and he no longer muffled her cries, so she sank her teeth into the bedlinen. His heavy shaft thrust through her clenched thighs, that tight channel flooded by the deluge of her release, and the storm was not over, for Maddek was unleashed upon her. Hotter, harder, and this time she did not try to drag his hand away from her clitoris but instead pushed back against him, seeking the same prize he sought with every stroke of his fingers and cock. Then it was abruptly within her grasp and she shuddered again, cries muffled against the bed, his thick groan filling her ears as he stiffened above her.
She had felt the pulse of his cock before, had known the warmth of his seed on her fingers. But against her own swollen and sensitive flesh, the pulse seemed deeper, the seed hotter.
Only a sevennight remained until he spent within her, when she would know that pulse even deeper, when his seed would burn ever hotter.
She yearned for that night. But until then, she would luxuriate in this release. This bedding had been nothing as she’d imagined. Rough, but not brutal as her father had been with her mother. And not what she had witnessed between Kelir and Ardyl and the barmaid. That had been playful and shimmering with mutual affection. This had been more primitive, an eruption of raw need—and had apparently suited Maddek as well as it had Yvenne.
And although there had not been affection, there was some tenderness. As Maddek’s heavy weight lifted from her back, he murmured, “You are well?”
Very well. “I am,” she whispered.
He left the bed, and her body felt all but boneless as she rolled onto her back. Her cloak fell open in front and was still bunched behind her waist, and the effort to right it seemed to steal all that remained of her strength. From the foot of the bed, the splash of water told her he washed, and she was lazily thinking of doing the same when he returned with a swath of dampened rabbit fur. He lay close beside her, elbow braced and head resting upon his hand as he looked down at her face. Though he could not possibly see through the dark, her cheeks blazed with heat as she quickly washed his seed from between her thighs.
Despite his release, his arousal had not completely subsided. She could feel his heavy length against her leg, could feel the heat of him even through her cloak.
On a whisper she asked him, “Do you still wish me to ease your need with my mouth?”
His low chuckle answered her before he said, “Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight I am well spent.”
“As am I.” Which filled Yvenne’s heart as she had never imagined. As raw and rough as Maddek was, she had not been mistaken in her choice of husband. “I was told that you would see to my pleasure, but I knew not—”
Her words were lost on a strangled breath as hard fingers seized her tongue. Pain tore through her mouth and even before her mind realized what was happening—Maddek is tearing out my tongue—her hands flew to his wrists and desperately tried to stop him. She had not been able to stop him before, had not moved that mountain, and so it was not her hands that halted him now.
His fingers stopped just beyond her teeth, the tip of her tongue in a viselike grip. A sobbing breath burst past her open lips. She tried to shake her head, to beg, but the movement seemed to rip at the sides of her tongue, and the only noise she could make was a strangled plea.
“Again you speak sly words.” Though it was only a murmur, anger hardened his voice like stone. “Again you speak of my mother.”
She could not answer, only attempt to shake her head again. Her eyes watered from the agony of it, but the agony within her was sharper, deeper. She could taste herself upon his fingers, the fingers he had said would not hurt her.
The fingers she had trusted to touch her.
“You will not receive another warning. Do you understand this?”
She’d understood it before. But there was no answer except to nod. He released her tongue and she would have told him then, but her throat was thick with tears and a queen did not cry when there was someone to see. Perhaps he would not see her tears in the dark, but if she spoke he would hear them.
And she could not bear that.
In misery, she turned onto her side, facing away from him, but his next words followed and slipped into her back like a sharpened blade.
“Queen or not, you are but a vessel through which I will take my vengeance. I will plant my seed within you—but if you wish for more, if you wish to be loved, you had best look elsewhere. For I can never open my heart to a woman who took part in the murder of my parents.”
That had to be denied, even if it exposed the tears that burned in her throat and her eyes. “I did not,” she whispered thickly.
“Perhaps not. But I cannot ever know if it is true. You admit you are treacherous and your sly tongue cannot be trusted. Your sighs and your longing say that you want more than a bedding, but if it is love you seek, look to our children. Look to my people and yours, as you are so adept at securing their loyalty. But do not look to me.”
Never had her heart felt so heavy. The weight of it held back even the tears. Bleakly she replied, “I hear you, warrior.”
He made no response as she rose from the bed. Perhaps thinking that she intended to wash more—as if the wound he’d delivered truly bled. Not until she reached the hearth did he ask quietly, “Where do you go?”
Where she was safe. “I will return to your bed upon my moon night. I am only a vessel, so you have no use for me there until then, and I have no wish to lie beside you.”
But the wolves would welcome her. With a soft whine, Bone licked her face, and she curled up against him, with Steel a comforting warmth at her back.
Maddek said not another word.
And it mattered not if the wolves felt her crying silently against them. It mattered not if her tears soaked into their fur.
For Maddek was truly a great warrior, finding vulnerabilities Yvenne had not known she possessed. He could even make weapons of her sighs, transform her longing
into a blade, and use them to slice through her heart.
A great warrior indeed.
CHAPTER 16
MADDEK
Early did Maddek rise, for that night sleep had not found him. With head pounding, he’d lain upon his cold bed until the gray light of dawn revealed Yvenne’s slight form curled up between the two wolves in front of the hearth.
Heavily she slept. Even when he finished dressing and crouched beside her, she did not stir. Her hood was up but failed to conceal her thin face or the reddened skin around her eyes. Her fingers were tangled in Bone’s thick fur.
The wolves lifted their heads but he quietly bade them to stay—then gave the same command to Kelir when that warrior disentangled himself from the barmaid. With Ardyl and Danoh at his back, Maddek made his way downstairs, where the travelers and soldiers who had not found rooms were sprawled sleeping over tables and benches.
He looked to Danoh. “See that Yvenne’s meal is taken to our chambers.” So that she would not have to shove aside a soldier’s feet before eating.
With a nod, Danoh went in search of the innkeeper. In silence Ardyl accompanied him to the blacksmith’s. If it had been Danoh walking beside him, Maddek would not have wondered at how quiet she remained. But Ardyl’s silence was censure, just as his warriors had treated his bride to similar censure the previous eve.
Ardyl’s disapproval now was likely in response to his bride’s decision to sleep on the floor. His warriors might have heard Yvenne’s pleasure, but they could not have heard what prompted her to leave their bed. No doubt they believed she punished Maddek for some insult.
That misconception would not be dispelled by him. Better they believed he deserved her punishment than reveal how she had spoken with a sly tongue—or that he had failed to fulfill his vow.
The last made shame fester within his chest. Only because she had not directly spoken of his mother had he spared her. But he had warned her against speaking with a sly tongue earlier that eve . . . and still gave her another warning rather than follow through.
But if she had spoken directly, Maddek knew not whether he’d have ripped out her tongue—or if he would have become an oathbreaker, the most reviled of all Parsathean warriors.
Never had he imagined his honor would be brought so low.
So Ardyl and the others could believe what they wished. Whatever reason they thought Yvenne had to punish him could not compare to the contemptible weakness exposed in his warrior’s heart.
Each leading two horses, he and Ardyl returned to the stables. That the remaining members of his Dragon also refused to speak to him was expected; less expected was Kelir’s presence. Maddek had told the warrior to remain with Yvenne. Instead young Toric was missing.
Maddek frowned at his friend, who met his gaze with an anger unconcealed. No doubt he would soon hear what his Dragon believed he had done. “Where is my bride?”
“Still breaking her fast, with Toric at her side. She insisted upon dining in the common room.”
Of course she had. There was more to see and more people to watch than in their bedchamber.
But that could not be what had angered his warriors. Maddek waited.
Kelir continued, “I urged her to linger over her meal.”
“Why?”
“So that she would not witness your Dragon deliver a much-needed blow.”
Torn between amusement and irritation, Maddek began to ready his mount. “Lay it upon me, then. After you tell me what I have done.”
“You sent our future queen from your bed and forced her to sleep with the dogs.”
Saddle in hand, Maddek stilled. “What do you say?”
“You made her sleep with the dogs.” Each word was a sharp bite.
By Stranik’s split tongue. Little wonder they had given him their silence. They had not thought she punished him. Instead they believed he’d punished her—humiliated her for his warriors and the barmaid to see.
An unworthy king he would truly be then.
Sardonic humor twisted his mouth. “It was her choice to leave my bed.”
His warriors stared at him.
Face slack with disbelief, Kelir slowly said, “She chose to lie with the wolves rather than to lie with you?”
An affirmative grunt served as Maddek’s response. He settled the saddle onto his mount’s back, and the gray gelding shifted uneasily when the warriors’ laughter erupted throughout the stables. He would not put Yvenne upon this horse, then. Not if loud noises so easily disturbed him.
And his admission lifted the Dragon’s censure. Grinning, Kelir led his own horse alongside Maddek’s and began to saddle him.
Full of amusement, the warrior asked, “What did you say to her that she would rather lie with dogs?”
“Only what needed to be said.” Though the words had injured her, they had been truth. It was best she built no expectations of love that would never be.
Maddek could not love a woman who might have taken part in the murder of his parents. He could not love a woman he could never trust.
Though he could want her more fiercely than he had ever wanted another.
“Only what needed to be said?” Kelir echoed, eyeing him curiously. “Just as she said to you in secret last eve?”
That Maddek was only a warrior, not a king. His fingers faltered upon the leathers that tied his furs to the saddle. Still her words pierced him through—yet they had carried a lesson he needed to learn.
But he could not truthfully say that his lesson had been for Yvenne. It was best that she did not hope to win his heart, but she had also never spoken of such a hope. The marriage she had proposed would allow for vengeance and to strengthen the alliance. Not one word had she uttered about love or companionship. Likely because everything Maddek had said and done already taught her not to hope for them.
She had not asked for his heart last night. She had only asked for release.
It was Maddek who had wanted more. It was he who had drawn her close when he had first come to their bed. It was he who had been so overcome with need that he had rutted upon her like a boar. It was he who had been filled with such tenderness and affection toward her—until her sly words had abruptly reminded him that she could not be trusted.
But he should not have needed the reminder. That he had forgotten even briefly was a betrayal of his queen and king.
He would not care for a woman who might have played a part in their murders. It had not been her sighs and longing that prompted his words, however. Instead it was his own heart that needed the lesson.
Feeling Kelir’s expectant gaze upon him, he finally responded. “Perhaps they were words best left unsaid.”
Humor lifted the other warrior’s brows. “She will not need to make your life a misery. You do it too well yourself.”
Maddek acknowledged that with a grunt and began readying Yvenne’s new mount.
“Best you make peace with her,” was Kelir’s advice. “If you can.”
Yes. If he could. Maddek was more accustomed to making war. But now he had to be more than a warrior.
For that, he needed Yvenne.
Which must have been why his chest clenched so tightly when he spotted her approaching the stables, Toric at her side. Yvenne was not the bride he would have chosen. But she was the bride who would make him a king worthy of his people. In his thoughtlessness, he might have jeopardized everything.
Quietly Kelir said, “She came down the stairs on her ass.”
“She fell?” His gaze slipped down her cloaked length. Her stiffness had all but disappeared. She only still favored her left leg. Or was her limp from a new injury? Scowling, he looked to Kelir. “Why was there no one to catch her?”
“I was directly behind her, which was how I saw what she did,” the warrior replied, his steady gaze on Maddek’s bride. “She did not fall. On the firs
t step, she clung so tightly to the rail it was as if she feared she would fall. Then she sat on the step and went down in that way. Fassad told me she also had difficulty climbing them last eve—as if she did not trust her left leg to hold her.”
As she had stumbled into Maddek when she had put weight upon her left leg while leaving the table. As she had collapsed to the ground when her brother had pulled her from their carriage.
Maddek had seen her weakness. Apparently he had not seen her suffering.
And he knew not what she saw in him now. Her moonstone eyes looked straight through him as he approached, leading her mount. No emotion registered on her delicate features as she first regarded him, then her new mare, then the other warriors and their mounts.
Her gaze lingered on the two horses tethered to Banek’s gelding. “You purchased so many?”
Maddek would have taken more if there had been more worth buying. “If we traveled with the Parsathean army, each warrior would have two or three horses, so that we might saddle another if one tires or falls lame. With these, we will travel more quickly. We have already lost too much time.”
Nodding, she rubbed the mare’s muzzle and softly exchanged breaths with the animal before her gaze began searching the stable. “Is there a mounting block?”
Because although her riding had improved these past days, still she could not swing herself into the saddle—and she would never be so tall as to raise her foot high enough to reach the stirrup. Instead she needed a ledge or rock to step upon, or for Maddek to lift her onto the horse’s back.
Maddek was here, yet she looked for a block. As if she could not bear his touch.
Jaw hardening, he clamped his hands around her waist. Instantly she stiffened, though she did not pull away or argue. Silent she remained as he hefted her astride. With both hands, she steadied herself on the pommel of her saddle.
He did not immediately give over the reins. “Will you run today if you must?”
Her soft lips thinned before she answered tightly, “I will try, warrior.”