by Jaci Burton
“I said get up. You must bathe and eat.”
She yawned and stretched, then scooted to the end of the bed, regarding him with half-closed eyes. “What do I need to get up for? There’s nothing for me to do around here.”
“There is plenty you can do.”
“Like what? I’m chained and I have only a few feet of freedom in either direction.”
She did have a point. There was nothing for her to do. “You have refused to accept the lessons that Mag was instructing you in.”
Swiping her hair from her face, she scrunched her nose and glared at him. “Which lessons? How to lick a man’s balls, how to suck his cock until he explodes down her throat, or how to make sure he gets release as quickly as possible so he doesn’t waste too much of his time on top of his woman?”
He meant to silence her, but the visions her words conjured had him hard and aching. Since he hadn’t bothered to dress yet, her eyes drifted between his legs and widened before she managed to mask her emotions with an indifferent look.
But she did notice. Her breasts swelled against the tight confines of her top, her cheeks flushed and he scented her arousal. Oh yes, she had definitely noticed. She may feign indifference and hatred for him, but she was a passionate woman. A woman that he would guess had needs that no man had taken care of in quite some time.
And he swore to Lal that he would be the man to take care of those needs.
Since his erection wasn’t going to relax any time soon, he took a step forward.
Starr thrust her hand in front of her, halting his progress. “Don’t even think for one second that I’m going to practice on you.”
Anger mixed with interest in her emerald eyes. Her pupils dilated, whether from anger or excitement he could not tell.
“You would not find my attentions unpleasant,” he said, trying a softer voice.
“You would not find my attentions pleasant at all,” she warned.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He approached her again, this time reaching for her arms and pinning them at her sides while pulling her into a standing position. He bent to kiss her, but she turned her head away. He tried again, and she turned the other way.
“Are you going to rape me? Because I swear by all that is holy I do not give you permission to violate me.”
Lycan stopped, releasing her arms as if she were a flaming fire. “Of course I would not rape you. I have never taken a woman who did not wish to be taken.”
She arched a brow and crossed her arms. “Are you certain of that? Perhaps your concubines fear you so much they lie underneath you and hold their screams of outrage deep inside them.”
“No!” He stormed off and grabbed his breeches, jamming his legs inside them and fastening them up. His erection, throbbing mere seconds ago, had left him, replaced instead by a rage that threatened to make him explode. He turned to Starr. “Understand this. The concubines in the palace are favored. They come here willingly…gladly, and with no reservation. We do not buy slaves, and we never force our women. We do not have to.”
A smirk creased her lips into a half smile. “I’m sure that’s what all you men think. But it’s not like they have any other choice.”
“Women in Raynar have many choices.”
She paced the confines of her chains, turning to him and pointing a finger. “Choices? Are they educated? Can they become teachers, or even warriors?”
“No. The laws are very clear.”
“Your laws are worth no more than the shit that falls from a balon’s ass. Women in Raynar are slaves, pure and simple. You can call it whatever you like, but I see with my own eyes.”
Why was he even having this conversation? He’d explained it once before to her hard-headed-highness. “And you are any different? You treat the men of Dognelle as if they were lowly animals. None can hold positions of power, none are allowed to hold offices or run any of your cities. What makes your society any different than mine?”
She laughed. “Our men hold many positions. They are educated, treated exactly the same as the women of Dognelle, with the exception that they cannot be warriors. Something in the genetics of Dognelle males precludes them from having the strength and wit to fight. They cannot hold offices and they cannot fight in our battles. But they can do anything else.”
“Ah, so they are kept inside the walls of Dognelle as mere wet nurses for your children.”
“And teachers, many of them exceptionally intelligent scholars.”
“You have no need for scholars in a barbarian society.”
“You know nothing of my people!”
Color rose to her face and she held her hands at her sides, balled into fists. He knew if he came at her now he’d have a fight on his hands.
Maybe he wanted that. Some kind of physical reaction from her.
No, this wasn’t what he wanted at all. “Let us just say then that neither of us understand the other, and leave it at that.” He turned to leave, tiring of an argument that neither of them could win.
“Lycan, wait!”
He turned, watching her walk toward him and stop as the chains halted her progress. He waited.
“Let me go. You have no use for me here.”
“I have not yet determined what your usefulness will be.”
“I will find a way to escape. You will never be able to turn your back on me. I will never submit to you willingly. To you or to any other man. Let me go and I will not make war upon your castle. As it is, my people are already looking for me, no doubt amassing an attack against Raynar.”
He had already thought of that. “Your people are no match for us.”
“Not alone. But with help, we will be.”
“You would merge with the Centuri to fight us?” Knowing the Dognelle hated the Centuri more than they hated Raynar, it was a concept that Lycan had never considered.
“I am their queen. They will do whatever it takes to get me back.”
“Perhaps they think you are dead.”
She paled, and he knew that was what she thought, too.
“Your people will not come looking for you. Kings and queens are sometimes killed during the course of battle. Another will take your place and lead your people.” He turned and walked out of the room. As he headed toward the eating hall, he felt a twinge of guilt.
He had hurt her with his words, unnecessarily so. Then again, she had done the same to him, making him doubt the validity of their laws that had stood for centuries.
It would be better if he didn’t spend time with Starr at all. She was not a good influence on his thoughts, and he needed to concentrate on protecting Raynar from the Centuri, not verbally sparring with the vixen held prisoner in his bed chambers.
He yelled instructions to Mag as he passed her in the hall. “Get a couple guards, bathe and dress Starr, and make sure she is fed. Have her returned to my chambers afterward.”
Mag opened her mouth to speak, then closed it quickly and bowed her head, scurrying off.
His temper flared hot. He needed to ease himself inside a willing concubine and release some of the frustration and stress of the past day.
The only difficulty with that concept was that his thoughts were occupied with a certain golden-haired, emerald-eyed temptress who swore she would rather die than lie with him.
The day started out in hell, and he had a feeling it was only going to get worse.
Chapter Five
These people bathed entirely too often. Starr was certain if she was forced to bathe every day, her skin would soon fall off. In the desert region, water was scarce and bathing a luxury the Dognelle could not afford.
Despite her protests, the bath was like a slice of heaven. She doubted she could ever tire of sitting in the warm, scented water and relaxing. Yet, even as she enjoyed the luxury, she felt a slice of guilt, knowing her people worried over her fate.
She had to escape, had to get back to them. Arguing with Lycan was getting her nowhere. Perhaps she needed to
change her tactics. She bathed without squawking, even ate the meal that Mag brought to her. It was delightful, meat, cheese and bread along with plenty of drink. If she continued to eat like this without daily exercise, she would soon be slow and fat.
After she was bathed and dressed, she was returned to Lycan’s chamber and re-chained, no doubt to await her “master”, as Mag had referred to him.
“Master, my ass,” she grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed with her knees drawn to her chest. She laid her chin on top of her knees and contemplated her next move. “No man will ever be master of me.”
“And do you have desires to master a man?”
Starr jumped at the sound of Lycan’s voice. He stood in the doorway, his raven hair billowing in the light breeze from the open windows. Truly, he was a warrior any woman would be happy to claim as her mate. Strong, arrogant features along with the body of a warrior lent him a potent masculinity not found in the men of Dognelle. Her heart picked up a frantic pace and she mentally tried to calm herself.
She stood and looked him over from head to toe, as if she were surveying prime animal flesh. “As queen I have the right to choose my mate, yes.”
“And do you wish to mate with a man that you can master in every way?”
“What are you getting at, Lycan?”
He stepped into the room and sat at the desk near the window. The sunlight filtered in and glinted off his hair, creating a halo around his body, so bright it highlighted even the dark hairs on his forearms. The day was warm and he wore a sleeveless tunic that showed off his muscular biceps. She wondered how those arms would feel under her palms, then immediately shook off the thought.
“I’m just curious as to how you like your men. Weak and compliant?”
“How I like my men?” He made no sense. Perhaps he’d had ale with his breakfast this morning.
He rolled his eyes. “In bed, Starr. Do you like to control them, dictate your needs to them, make them do your bidding?”
She gulped loudly. In bed? How should she know? She’d never bedded anyone before.
And he knew it. The devil’s hell, he knew it. The smile on his face died and he looked at her with a very strange expression. When he stood and approached her, she instinctively pulled her legs tighter against her chest. But he stopped in front of her and knelt, his blue eyes mesmerizing her with their unexpected tenderness.
“You’re a virgin.”
Her first thought was to vehemently deny his claim, but for what reason? “Yes, I am.”
“Why?”
She laughed at the question. “Why not?”
Furrows creased his brow when he frowned. She wanted to trace the lines with her fingers.
“I would think a queen would take many lovers. Try them out, so you could find the right one for a mate.”
Dare she tell him that none of the Dognelle men had ever appealed to her? That none of them had ever stirred an ounce of emotion in her? Not like…not like he did. It was as if the woman in her awoke the moment she set eyes on him. A realization that was not the least bit pleasing.
“I was not ready. I am a warrior, a queen of my people. I do not have time for sexual pleasures.”
He laughed then, and stood. “I am a warrior, too, and a king of my people. Believe me, there is always time for sexual pleasures.”
“Perhaps you have nothing better to do than while away the days fucking your slaves. Those of us who live in hardship have more pressing duties.”
Ignoring her insult, he asked, “What do you do to release the tensions from battle?”
When he held out his hand to help her up, she hesitated before slipping her hand in his. He was so much taller than her, and she was not slight. But her head barely reached his chest when he pulled her upright. “I do not release tensions from battle. There is only war with my people.”
He pulled a chair over from his desk and motioned for her to sit. She did, and he paced back and forth in front of her. “Do you never relax?”
“You stood upon the thresholds of our lands, Lycan. Our lives are a never-ending battle to maintain our kingdom. If we are not constantly on guard, the Centuri would invade and take over. If not them, then the mountain clans or those who make their homes over the mountains.”
“Why would anyone want the Dognelle’s lands?”
She stood, ready to defend her kingdom, but his hand on her wrist stayed her. “No, don’t interpret my question as an insult to your lands. I mean your lands are no different than Centuri. You are desert dwellers, with no more food or water than they have. Why is your land important?”
“You would have to ask Golan that question.” The mere mention of the Centuri King’s name had revulsion threatening to upset the morning meal in her stomach.
Apparently, Lycan felt the same way. “Golan is a barbarian. His tactics are unfathomable to most. That’s what makes him so dangerous—his unpredictability.”
Starr nodded. “My people, especially, are aware of this. He makes raids of our lands all times of the day and night, despite the heat, the drought or the desert cold. It’s like he and his people are impervious to any of the harsher weather elements that keep my people inside.”
“We have often thought that the Centuri possess powers we aren’t aware of. But none have ever been captured alive. And the dead offer up no secrets. Their bodies are the same as ours, as far as we can see.”
“I think they simply don’t care about themselves or their people. Golan drives them to the point of breaking, that much we know. Perhaps it’s his bitterness that makes him seem so much stronger.” She may disagree with everything this Raynar king believed in, yet it was somehow comforting to have another warrior to discuss their common enemy with.
“He’s a jealous man. My father told me stories of Golan’s ancestors. The Centuri have always wanted Raynar. They are conquerors and will not live in peace with any other clans. Their goal is domination.”
“With the Dognelle as their first prize.” She hated to admit they were fighting a losing battle with the Centuri, but her forces were weakening. Months upon months of constant skirmishes had begun to wear on her warriors. That twinge of guilt forced its way into her belly again, and she renewed her vow to make her escape as quickly as she could so she could get back to her people. But how? She needed a strategy, and she knew Lycan was the key. She simply had to find his vulnerability, and tap into it.
“You could bring your people into Raynar, you know.”
She looked up at him, met the sincerity in his gaze, then shook her head. “I could not subject my women to living as the females here, do. We are free and would never willingly live as slaves.”
“Women are not slaves here. They are merely protected.”
“If we do not have the freedom to come and go as we please, it is the same thing. We are warriors, Lycan. My people are meant to be free.”
“It is the only thing I can offer you. I cannot spare troops to guard Dognelle as they are needed here. If we cut our strength here, it leaves Raynar vulnerable.”
In many ways she admired the fact he even thought of offering aid to Dognelle, since they had been at war as long as she could remember. “We have survived without Raynar’s help before. We will continue to do so.”
“Attacking Raynar at every opportunity only weakens your warriors and decreases your force.”
“Are you afraid of Dognelle attacks?”
He laughed then, a deep, rich sound. “I think you either underestimate my warriors, or overestimate your own.”
“I neither under nor overestimate anything, or anyone.”
“Still, you would be wise to reconsider my offer of protection.”
“I would rather starve in the desert as a free woman than thrive as a well-fed, protected slave.”
He stood and walked to the doorway, then turned to her. “Eventually you will grow tired of living in chains and will come around to my way of thinking.”
She watched him walk out, the door sh
utting behind him like a prison cell.
She had already grown tired of living in chains, yet she could never be what he expected her to be.
There had to be some other way.
* * * * *
Tor jumped back as Lycan’s sword made a wide arc across his middle. “Are you deliberately trying to kill me or is something else causing your foul mood today?”
Lycan dropped his sword on the ground, muttering an oath of disgust. “Sorry. My mind is elsewhere.”
“Probably on the heathen Dognelle bitch sharing your chambers.” Tor picked up Lycan’s sword and handed it to him. They walked toward the main hall together, both of them wiping the sweat from their faces.
The day was hot, his mood hotter, and Tor was right. He could have killed Tor because he wasn’t focusing on technique, only on his frustration with Starr.
He’d brought her here and couldn’t very well let her go, yet every time he spoke with her he could see the worry in her eyes. She was afraid for her people. True leaders worried more about their people than about themselves.
“I’m thinking of letting her go.”
Tor stopped and stared at Lycan as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you insane? She knows too much, she’s seen the inside of Raynar. Limited, yes, but she knows where your chambers are. No doubt, she has already assessed the strength and weaknesses of your warriors. If she joins with the Centuri, it could mean our downfall.”
Lycan sighed and cast the cloth onto a nearby chair, then reached for a drink. He swallowed it greedily, the hot sun and swordplay making his throat feel like the arid desert. With a sigh, he nodded. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You need to get her out of your chambers. She’s a distraction. And you need to release some of that tension inside you. Have you been with any of the concubines since we returned?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed? He usually never went without a female to warm his bed, and yet since he’d brought Starr into the castle, he hadn’t desired any of his concubines. “I don’t know.”