Fantasyland 02 The Golden Dynasty (8 page)

And I waited.

Night had fallen and I was usually asleep by
the time he returned so after I waited for awhile I figured I was
in for a long one.

So I looked around the tent, having been in
it for days, I was seeing it for the first time.

The bed was smack in the middle on a painted
blue wooden platform that was probably one foot tall. There was a
mattress, I knew, what it was made of, I didn’t know but it was
thick, tall and soft. It was covered in heavy hides that were also
soft, warm and comfy (the day was hot, the sun shone brightly, but
when it dropped, it got cold). This was covered in a heavy, light
blue silk sheet (which didn’t do much to ward off the cold, I had
discovered, so it was lucky we slept on the fluffy hides). The
pillows didn’t have cases, they were square or rectangular and,
like the big cushions the girls had set outside for Diandra and me,
they were silk, satin and brocade, no tassels or fringe and not in
rich colors but in pastels.

There were heavy-looking trunks lining the
circular tent on one side, all wood, all carved, all with latches
with strong looking locks hanging from them. Some of them were
inlaid with what looked like mother of pearl. Some of them
surrounded by sturdy-looking black iron.

On the other side of the tent, a narrow,
rectangular wood table, also carved, two chairs at each end,
ladderback, cushions on the seats with tassels. There were silver
and copper candlesticks with candles (now burning) of all shapes,
sizes and widths that scattered the top. And against that side of
the tent beyond the table, two short, square chests with
latticework doors and brass latches. In one, I could see a variety
of small to medium-sized clay pots and in the other there was what
looked like pottery or enameled clay plates, bowls and jugs plus
silverware that I already knew was used at the table.

At the back of the tent, a three panel
screen made of wood with a light green gauze hiding what was behind
it from view. This was where the chamber pot was.

Close to the entrance flaps, a small bed of
hides that was at least three feet tall, one hide stacked on top of
the other, a bunch of cushions at its head, a squat, carved, small
round table also at its head, also covered in candlesticks of all
shapes and sizes. A place, maybe, to read (if they had books in
this hellhole) or lounge.

There were more tall candleholders, dozens
of them; these wrought iron, scrolled, all holding thick candles
and dotted around the room, lit. A number of them circled the bed,
not close, not far and at what seemed like random places.

The stone ground was covered with thick,
woven rugs with rough designs on them. They were, I’d experienced,
slightly abrasive on your feet but they were a heckuva lot better
than the stone.

I studied the space.

With night having fallen, the candlelight
dancing, the silks and satins gleaming, the torchlight from outside
glowing against the sides of the tent, I noted that in my world,
this would be an exotic and romantic setting. Comfortable. Inviting
you to relax, lounge and, if you were lucky enough to be with
someone who mattered, engage in other activities that were a little
more energetic and a lot more fun.

So it sucked that for me this tent, this
whole
world,
was my
torture chamber.

On that thought, the flap to the tent
slapped back. I jumped and my determination to get a few things
straight slipped as I watched the Dax bend low and enter the
tent.

I sucked in breath.

He straightened, walked in two steps and
stopped, his dark eyes on me.

Gone was the paint, he hadn’t painted
himself since that night.

But still, he scared the shit out of me. I
forgot how dark he was, how sinister, how savage and how
huge
. It
couldn’t be said the tent was enormous but it was the biggest tent
I’d ever seen and there was room to move, room to
breathe.

With him standing in it, his forceful energy
invading, his huge, powerful body on display, his brown skin
gleaming in the candlelight, the tent seemed tiny.

Another direct hit to my determination.

He moved toward the foot of the bed and as
he made it there, I threw up a hand and stated firmly, “Stop.”

He stopped. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me
as he moved and he didn’t then, not even to look at my hand.

“You and me,” I went on, pulling up the
courage to speak to him, the first words I’d said to him since that
awful night, I gestured between his big body and my own, “we need
to talk.”

He stared at me.

I pointed between us again then lifted my
hand and flapped my fingers in lame sign language to indicate
talking, “Talk. You and I are going to talk.”

He looked at my hand then back at me but he
didn’t speak nor did his impassive expression change.

All right, moving on.

I pointed to myself. “My name is Circe.”

Nothing.

I leaned in and repeated slowly, “Cir…
ce.”

More nothing.

I pointed to him, “You are King
Lahn.
Dax
Lahn.” I
pointed to myself. “I am Queen Circe.
Dahksahna
Circe.”

His hands went to his hips and I tensed but
they just rested there. He still did not speak nor did he tear his
dark brown eyes from mine.

Hmm. I had to assume he got that and sally
forth.

“We,” I gestured between him and myself
again, “have to get a few things straight.” I had no gesture for
that and knew he would have no way of knowing what that meant. Then
I pointed to the bed. “Here and…” I pointed to the flaps of the
tent, “out there, you and I have to sort our shit out.”

His hands moved at his hips, my eyes dropped
there and I saw he had yanked some hide ties loose.

Oh shit.

My body tensed and my eyes flew to his. “You
and me,” more gesturing, “need to find a way to come together.” I
clasped my hands together in front of me.

His hands moved lower down the sides of his
hips and he pulled more ties so his hides loosened at his
waist.

Shit!

“
Okay,” I said softly, scooting back,
“
this
is
exactly
what we have to get straight.”

Another set of ties loosened and his hides
fell to the ground.

He was already ready to take me.

Shit!

I scooted back to the pillows at the head
of the bed and lifted a hand up toward him. “Before we… carry on,
we have to find a way to talk.
Understand
each other.”

His eyes dropped to where I was kneeling on
the pillows then he turned, stepped free of his hides and calmly
strode around the bed.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit!

He made it nearly to the corner of the bed
at the head, completely casual about his erect nudity, something
which I was
not
casual about
because the man was
huge
and this
meant
all of
him
and I was not liking
where any of this was going.

I scuttled to the foot of the bed and kept
trying. “Please stop, sit and try to listen to me.” I pointed at
him then cupped my hand at my ear and then pointed at myself.

He changed directions and strode back around
the bed.

I scampered to the middle of it, my arm out,
palm up to him. “Please,” I begged on a whisper.

Mistake. Colossal mistake.

His arm snaked out so fast it was a blur.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist and with a forceful tug that
wrenched my shoulder and made me cry out, I was across the bed and
up, my torso plastered to his, my legs dangling, feet skimming the
bed and his arms were around me, caging me in.

I tipped my head back to look in dark eyes
that were gazing down at me. Then I curled my fingers into the
hard, warm muscle at his shoulders, exerting enough pressure
hopefully to make my point and I whispered over my hammering heart,
“Please, Lahn, listen to me.”

He didn’t listen to me. Oh no. He didn’t do
that.

He shifted his torso so my legs swung to the
side then he fell forward, his mammoth weight landing on me.

I was winded but I was not beaten.

That, that right there, was why we needed
to get things
straight
.

I arched my back, shoved at his shoulders
and shouted, “Seriously, big guy, we need… to get… a few
things…
straight!
”

His hand trailed my side then went between
our bodies.

I lost it.

On a frustrated, furious cry, I
struggled.

This surprisingly worked. I managed to push
him back, slide out from under him and nearly gain the side of the
bed before I was caught at the waist and pulled back.

I whirled and fought.

I managed to use my nails to score his skin,
opening up two thin, short streaks that beaded instantly with blood
just under his shoulder and that shoulder rocked back as I froze in
shock that I’d managed to wound him. Then he gave me his full
weight, tipped his head down to look at the scratches and, fuck me,
when he looked back at me there was something in his eyes I did not
like and whatever that something was made him grin like he was
supremely pleased.

Shit!

I unfroze and again gave it my all, just
like that heinous night, grunting with the effort.

The problem was, even with the bastard
knowing he was bigger than me, stronger than me, he gave it his all
too and it became clear that if I wasn’t smart, and fast, he’d
break bones if he had to.

God, I hated him.

And when he’d maneuvered me to my knees, my
back to him, my wrists held in one of his fists pinned unmoving to
my chest and I knew what was next, I reared back my head and
shouted it.

“
God,
I hate you!
”

His free hand slid along the silk at my
belly and his mouth went to my neck.

“Kah Lahnahsahna,” he muttered.

I jerked (to no avail) in his arms, and
screamed, “
Stop calling me that!
”

His fingers curled in, fisting the material
at my belly, bunching it up and when he had it all up, his hand
moved down.

I froze.

“Kah Dahksahna,” he whispered against my
neck.

“Fuck you! I’m not your queen!” I snapped,
my hips finally moving to avoid the path of his hand.

“Kah rahna Dahksahna,” he murmured and his
hand slid into my panties.

My hips stopped moving.

“
God,” I whispered on a jerk of my arms
that did nothing to loosen his hold, “I freaking
hate
you.
”

His fingers glided between my legs.

And that was when it hit me his touch wasn’t
clinical. It wasn’t removed. He wasn’t shoving me face first into
the bed and taking me from behind like I was nothing but a warm
vessel to receive his seed.

His touch was gentle, light, soft.

Oh shit.

His finger glided light as a whisper over my
clit.

Oh shit!

“Lahn,” I whispered.

“Lahn,” he repeated, pushing his hips into
my back as his finger started to circle in what was very clearly a
caress. And dear God, I couldn’t believe it but it was a nice one.
It was a sweet one. And my body, damn it all, recognized it as
such.

What on earth was happening?

“Please.” I kept whispering.

“Please,” he repeated after me again, still
circling his finger with a gentle touch.

“Don’t,” I begged.

“Don’t,” he repeated and my eyes closed
slowly.

God, was this happening to me? After all
he’d done, was this really happening to me?

His finger asserted just a wee bit more
pressure.

My head automatically fell back to his
shoulder as a tiny spiral of pleasure unfurled in my belly.

Yep, this was happening to me.

I jerked my hands again, whispering, “I
won’t.”

“I won’t,” he whispered back and his deep,
rumbling whisper spiraled through me too.

His finger started circling faster, a little
harder, a lot better.

God.

I turned my head, his lifted and I pressed
my forehead into his neck and I fought against that spiral of
pleasure that was unfurling. But I didn’t win. It unfurled, then it
grew, then it spread.

“Lahn,” I breathed as the continued workings
of his fingers forced the last bits of tension from my body.

“Lahn,” he murmured and circled faster.

Oh, that felt nice.

“Circe,” I whispered.

His hand at my wrists tightened, pulling
them into me as his finger pressed deeper.

“Circe,” he whispered and my hips
bucked.

Yes.
I liked that.

“Circe,” I said again and he pressed his
hardness into my back and circled even faster.

“Circe,” he repeated softly and I whimpered
as that spiral in my belly whirled out-of-control.

“Yes,” I breathed.

I felt his lips a whisper from mine.

“Yes,” he muttered.

Oh God.

My hips moved with his hand, grinding down,
seeking more from his finger and he didn’t keep it from me. He gave
it to me and I took it, I reached for it, and it started
coming.

My eyes flew open and when they did, his
dark ones,
not
looking
detached,
not
blank,
not
impassive,
but heated and turned on and God, could it be? Totally freaking
sexy.

His finger pressed deeper and circled
faster.