Sevin: Lords of Satyr (32 page)

“I’ll consider your request, Advisor.”

“Do that. And remember the stakes while you’re considering it.”

“For my sister?”

“And for him. I can summon other healers who may work less effectively with him. Do more damage. Think about it.”

Day eight

“You’re maenad.”

Oh gods, now even Luc had guessed her secret. This was bad.

Natalia’s fingers tightened on her pen. She was back in his cell this morning, and they’d begun as if the events of yesterday had never happened, neither of them broaching it. In fact, they had been having a perfectly civil conversation suited to their roles of patient and Healer. And now Luc had to say something like that to ruin it.

At her sour expression, one side of his mouth lifted and he laughed. “I’m right. The immediacy of our attraction makes more sense now. Your kind is meant to worship mine.”

She wrote something on her clipboard.

He leaned over her shoulder, pointing to what she’d written. “What does that say?”

“Patient is an ass.”

Another smile tugged at that beautiful mouth. “Are you teasing me?”

She searched his eyes, and realization struck her. “You can’t read, can you?”

“I can read you,” he said. He turned his back to the window so the attendant couldn’t read his lips. His hand found her hip, low where the touch could not be seen by their watchers. “And your body language is saying you missed me last night. You should have been with me.” His hand stroked her thigh, the clandestine nature of his touch making it all the more thrilling. “Imagine how nice it would have been to share a bed. All night long. To have each other as often as the mood strikes.”

She glanced at his narrow mattress.

“Not that bed. Yours.”

Advisor would probably whoop for joy at the idea of a torrid, public liaison between them, his prize Satyr and maenad. She shook her head. “Not possible.”

“Close the curtains.”

When she didn’t move, he clucked at her with feigned solemnity. “Your kind is supposed to worship my kind, Mistress Maenad. I can see you’ll need some lessons in what pleases me.”

Reaching beyond her, he whipped the curtains closed himself. Then swinging her into his arms, he set her on the desk, knocking her clipboard to the floor. He popped the buttons of her blouse open and unfastened her corset.

His hands took her waist and his mouth fell on the peak of one breast. Teeth tugged at her nipple. His gently rough tongue laved her there, and she felt the sensation pulse at the private flesh high between her thighs. Her head fell back, and she wove her fingers into his hair, holding him. She moaned.

The doorknob jiggled. “Healer?” The attendant.

His mouth lifted. “Annoying bastard. Tell him it’s all right.”

“Luc ... I’m not sure this is wise.”

His hand went under her skirt, finding the slit in her pantalets. Two talented fingers entered her. A thumb brushed her clit. The fingers began to move. “Tell him.”

Her body bowed upward and she gave in, gasping and calling out in a strained voice, “All is well, attendant.”

“Take your hair down for me,” Luc whispered. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, the fingers of his hands still moving in her, gently testing her body’s slick feminine clasp.

Her arm lifted and she began removing pins from her plait as if she were in his thrall and unable to disobey. Satisfaction filled him as he watched her do his bidding, watched lush waves of chestnut hair tumble around her shoulders. In her chaste gown, she looked so beautiful, endearing, fuckable.

Lovable.

Heat churned through him and with it came a fierce longing, stronger even than the one he’d felt yesterday. A longing to hold her. To ease her loneliness and his. To make her come for him.

“You’re wet, mistress,” he murmured, kissing her belly. Her legs relaxed for him, sliding slightly farther apart.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice dark and low. “Offer your pristine body to me, maenad. It’s what we were meant for.”

“Pristine?” She gave a sad sort of laugh.

The rhythm of his fingers slowed inside her. “What does that mean?”

Her hands gripped his arm, and his fingers pulled from her. She came up on her elbows, struggling to get away. Their eyes met.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t come to you untouched,” she admitted, sounding ashamed. “I took part in the community’s breeding program. A duty. There were monthly clinical inseminations. Ten years. A hundred and twenty chances, but no children came. I’m barren.”

“Not with me, you wouldn’t be.” It was a soft promise, one that made her heart squeeze with foolish hope. She was stupid. In what world did she imagine they could be together? Not this one. And there was no way to reach his unless ...

A hand came around her, bringing her against his body as it loomed over hers. With a quick shove of his free hand, drawstring pants sagged low on narrow hips. She felt him tilt the angle of his cock. Felt him find her opening. Felt him stretch her, felt the virile strength of his entry. She was still tender from their joining yesterday, and it heightened the sensation now. Her spine arched, her chin lifting, she drew in a long, shuddering breath.

Her entire being was concentrated on his stroke, their joining. On the long, slow glide of his hot, ruddy thickness moving inside her, filling her, claiming her as his.

His growl colored the air, harsh and possessive, as his flesh took from hers and gave. He drove deep, only to suction from her and slam home again. He leaned over her so she half lay on the counter under him, bracing himself on a forearm, one hand going under her ass to tilt her as he liked. As she liked. His hips rode hers, moving sensuously, grinding and rotating. With the perfect ardor of a salacious symphony, the slash of his spine arched and bowed as muscles bunched and slackened. His balls thudded against her bottom, sending a fervid thrill through her.

Under her hands she felt the shallows formed in the sides of his rear cheeks as muscles drove him deep. She wrapped her legs around him, reveling in his powerful, rolling rhythm.

Ruddy color now suffused his cheekbones and a shadow of coal-black bristle dusted his strong jaw. Silver glinted from beneath lowered lashes as he gazed at her with brooding intensity.

Last night had been a thrilling, dangerous exception. He’d lost control of his wits and been at the mercy of his physical desires. What was it about this world—about this woman—that had held him in such thrall?

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Come with me. Through the gate. To my home. Wed me again, in my world.”

“Yes.” Already she could feel her flesh fisting gently on his, gentle pulses that built higher and higher, stronger and stronger. His arms gripped her, hard, and she felt him come, in scalding shots of semen that made her writhe and twist with pleasure.

She cried out. “Yes!”

The doorknob rattled.

They both ignored it. A pounding began. “Mistress?”

“It’s all fucking right!” Luc bellowed as she called out something along the same lines. The banging stopped.

Eventually, their coming eased and she laughed quietly—at the earlier disturbance that had interrupted their passion, and simply because she felt, well, happy. He gave her a disgruntled smile. “It’s not funny. I want you all to myself next time.”

Her fingers threaded his hair, enjoying its rich texture, both of them loath to separate. “What did you mean before, about my not being barren with you?” she asked him, her other hand smoothing down his side.

“During our Calling, under the whole moon, we can choose whether our seed is potent. We can decide if the women we mate bear our children.”

She came up on her elbows as an insidious thought came to her. “So that’s why they want you under their control! Oh, Luc, they’re going to keep you here. Use you as a breeder of females. Starting with me. It’s why Advisor chose me in particular. Why he has thrown us together.”

He frowned. “Explain.”

She pushed him away and he lifted her down, helping her to straighten her clothing.

“I was sent to get information from you. To find out how you traveled here, so that they can use your gate themselves. I see now that they are testing you with me this Calling, seeing if your seed will prove fertile in a barren woman. And if you manage it, afterward you are to be put out to stud. We have to get you out of here.”

His hand caught hers. “This Advisor you spoke of. What does he look like?”

She gave him a brief description. “Why?”

“Because I came here for revenge. Against him. He’s one of those who came to the catacombs,” said Luc. “His surname is Arturo. He liked them young. Liked to make the hurt last. Male or female, he didn’t care.”

His story spilled from him then. It was a tale he’d long kept buried, one he had carefully hidden away from other doctors, from his brothers.

It had been a Moonful night thirteen years earlier when all had gone so awry. Their parents had gone out to the family’s olive grove to celebrate the rites, leaving the four boys in the care of servants. Dane had recently become curious to learn something of these mysterious rituals in which the Satyr engaged under a full moon. And he had sneaked out, hoping to spy.

Unbeknownst to him, five-year-old Luc had followed. Both had been captured and held in the catacombs as sexual slaves at the behest of the Bona Dea empire. Dane had escaped, but Luc had remained for years.

He asked no pity now of his solitary audience and his tale was told calmly. But he felt some of its poison leech from him in this first telling of it.

And in his narrow bed, his beloved lay with him, holding him, weeping for the boy he’d been, for the wounded man he’d become. She curved a soft palm to his cheek, touched gentle fingertips to his mouth.

“Few men could have survived what you did,” she told him. “A lesser man would have found his relief in narcotics or in the taking of his own life. But don’t look back. Move forward. Behind you lies revenge. If you seek it when we try to escape, all may be lost. They might recapture you. Keep us apart.”

“And that matters so much to you?”

“Yes, gods, it matters. Listen to me, Luc. Whatever happens, know this. Believe it. You are a good man, a strong one. A man worth loving.”

Love for her welled up in him, chasing away hate. “Then love me, Lia. Love me. You are the one I want.”

And with her kiss, he felt himself begin to heal. At long last.

Day nine

Natalia smiled at the attendant on duty outside Luc’s cell as she arrived the next morning. “I’ve brought something for you.” She tugged back the cloth covering the basket she held, revealing a small bottle and some freshly baked bread. “Wine. From grapes I picked two seasons ago.”

She set them out on his desk. His eyes lit up.

Leaving him to it, she entered Luc’s cell, carrying a satchel and another basket.

Reaching into the satchel, she pulled out some tailored street clothing and handed it to Luc. “Put them on. Hurry,” she told him. “I’ve drugged the attendant. And this morning, I’ve done some sleuthing. There’s a private sanctuary used only by the priests within the temple you took me into when you woke at the festival. There’s a fountain dedicated to Bacchus. At the very temple you arrived at twelve years ago.”

Luc yanked on the clothing she’d brought. “Damn. That explains the reek of irises. It must be the fountaingate. I was so close that day.”

When he finished dressing, he took her hand and made for the door. “Take me there.”

Nodding, Natalia peeked outside. Seeing the attendant slumped forward on the desk and hearing the soft buzz of his snore, she tugged Luc after her. She’d plied the guards on duty with the same tainted wine so their escape was easy. “I have a hired carriage waiting a short distance from here,” she told him.

An hour later, they were walking up the hillside above the institute. Cresting a rise Luc gazed at the devastation all around them. Hills of dry grasses stretched out on all sides, in every direction. Only the ancient grape vines grew green, sprawling up stakes.

The two of them quickly reached the temple. The altar where he’d lain all those years stood empty of statuary now, all the bits of marble that had once encased him swept away.

“I know a back way into the temple,” Natalia told him. “We used to sneak inside it and play there as children.”

And then they were in the temple. And sneaking into the priests’ private sanctuary. Standing before the fountain within it.

“Yes. This is it,” Luc breathed, instantly certain. He reached for her hand, frowned when she handed him the basket of grapes she’d brought and backed away.

Natalia drank him in with a hungry sweep of her eyes. Noted the solid strength of him, the watchful silver gaze, the sapphire highlights in his dark hair. He wore a dark coat and trousers now instead of the Healing Center uniform. He looked self-assured, dangerously attractive. These last minutes might be the last she would ever see of him.

“Take the grapes to your brothers,” she told him. “Make the elixir. I can’t go with you. My sister, Sophie, is here. She has no one but me to guide her.”

Luc reached for her again, this time taking her arm in a hard grip. “Now, you listen to me for once. This world is every bit the anathema my brothers led me to expect. Nothing good can come of you remaining here.”

“I was born here,” she argued. “As were you.”

“But I left this world when I was young. Because my parents somehow guessed what it would become. They sensed the coming of treachery and war and sickness. Gods, Lia, you don’t belong here.” He smoothed curls of luxuriant hair back from her face and throat. “You’ll wither and die, just like everything else. You deserve better. You deserve love, happiness, protection. I’ll do my damnedest to give them to you.”

Natalia wanted to weep, but she held tears back, shaking her head. “I can’t leave my sister. Go now. Return to me if you can. Only if it’s safe.”

His embrace swallowed her. “You’ve made me whole,” he whispered, his voice ravaged at the thought of losing her. “Made me want to live again. Plan a life. We are not done with this world. I can open the same trade here as the Toscana gate enjoys. Regular deliveries of grapes between the worlds. I’ll open negotiations with your government immediately.”