Verity turned her back to Laris and began to unfasten the buttons that ran down the front of her riding outfit. A few buttons were missing, but there were so many the opening did not gap. Even if it had, she wore an undershirt beneath. Her movements were quick and efficient. She could not wait to get out of this horrid clothing!
As she pulled the top half of her outfit down and off, she glanced behind her to see if Laris watched. He did not. He had turned his back on her, not because he didn’t want to watch but because he was a gentleman.
She stripped off all her clothing, ridding herself of the riding outfit and all her underclothes, and then she looked at the rushing water of the creek. From here it looked to be deep, for a creek, and the water rushed in a way that reminded her of the river which had almost taken her. She wished, very much, for a bath, but was afraid of even putting her feet into the water. Logically she knew the gentle current would not take her away, but there was more to life than logic.
“I’m afraid,” she said simply.
Laris turned about quickly. He saw that she was still naked, blushed, and then turned about once again, presenting his fine back to her. “Why are you afraid?”
She explained. The water. The river. A bath.
“The creek is not at all deep.”
“I know,” she said.
“I’ll be right here,” he assured her.
Unfortunately,
right here
was not good enough. “Would you come in with me?”
He did not turn around, but she saw his shoulders tense. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Perhaps she should be embarrassed by her nakedness, but in her lifetime many personal maids and nurses had seen her without clothing, and she trusted Laris much more than she trusted any of them, even now when all she wore was a lucky talisman she was afraid to remove. She would never take it off! If she found herself in this dire situation with the luck of the talisman, where would she be without it? Dead, most likely. No, she was
not
taking it off.
Laris removed his vest and then his shirt, and he set his weapons aside. My, what a fine chest he had! He wasn’t at all hairy, and she could see lots of fascinating bumps and bulges on his chest and his arms. His stomach was flat and ridged and not at all like her own soft belly. Interesting. He kicked off his boots and removed his belt, but began walking toward her without removing his trousers, though once he had a close look at the creek, he rolled his pants legs up to his knees.
“You’re going in the water half-dressed?” she said as he took her hand.
“Yes.” His voice was tight.
“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” she argued. She gripped his hand tightly as she stepped into the creek. “The water is cold!”
“Good,” Laris muttered.
Goosebumps crawled up her arms and across her shoulders. Her nipples hardened. And still she kept moving deeper into the water. At the deepest point it barely came above her knees, and still the rushing water scared her. She hadn’t told Laris, but for the past two nights when they slept, she dreamed that she was in the river and it was pulling her down to the deepest depths. In some dreams he arrived to save her. In others he did not.
She bathed quickly. That task required the freedom of both her hands, and she did her best to make sure she wasn’t without support for any longer than was necessary. Her eyes flitted often to Laris, who was much nicer to look at than the stream at her feet or the green landscape which surrounded them. Even when he didn’t hold her steady, he remained close. He was certainly close enough for her to notice that he was aroused.
All along she had told Laris that she had to be a virgin when she wed the emperor, but that when the wedding night was done, she could be his. Sometimes she’d even meant those words, usually as he held her late at night, but she had never before truly
felt
them. Not until now. She now felt that promise in her quivering belly, in the ache she had not paid much attention to until this moment, in the ardent desire to press her soft belly to his hard one to see how such a touch might feel. She wanted so much to reach out and touch the ridge in his trousers, to wrap her body around his and never let go.
She wished fervently that he was as naked as she.
Maybe the emperor would not choose her after all. She’d been so confident that he would, thanks to Mavise’s prediction and her own self-confidence, but at the moment she thought that perhaps he would not. There was also the possibility that if she decided she did not want to be chosen, she could withdraw from the competition.
And then what? She knew Laris loved her; she had seen to that. But she couldn’t be a sentinel’s wife! Could she? What of the destiny she’d been promised? Could she, should she, turn her back on a promised future?
“You’re clean enough,” Laris said hoarsely. He took her hand and led her from the creek, not looking at her, not saying another word. He kept his back to her while she donned the dress he had bought for her, while he put on his shirt and vest and weapons, while he fastened his weapons to his belt. He didn’t even look at her when she told him she was done and began to brush out her hair.
“You’re mad at me,” she said as she brushed out the tangled strands of her usually well-cared-for hair.
“I’m not mad,” he said tersely.
No, he was miserably in need. So was she, truth be told. She could say a few words right now and they’d both be much happier. She could command—or ask—that he make love to her here and now, and he would accede. She could hint that perhaps she did not have to be a virgin when she wed the emperor—if she wed the emperor at all. She could just say his name in the right tone of voice, and he would be here.
A sadness welled up inside Verity. Would Laris want her so much if she had not given him the blasted potion? Would he have saved her, held her, cared for her, kissed her forehead? She wanted to know. She wanted him to love her without magic, the way she was beginning to love him. Anything else would be less than perfect, and she wanted perfection.
Perhaps in Arthes there would be a witch who could undo what she’d done.
TRYSTAN
could barely keep his eyes open as the last light of day faded from the sky. Sleep, Sanura said, and perhaps she was right.
He fought the need for sleep because he remembered taking control for short bursts of time while the other slept. Would Alix be able to do the same? No. He had existed in darkness for years before he’d learned how to make an appearance while Alix slept. He was stronger than Alix, more determined.
He yanked on the tether by which he led Sanura as he moved into the forest which lined their path. In a way he wished Vyrn and the others would find him. He wanted a fight, he wanted to draw blood and expend some of the fury which was building up inside him. But he also knew that the woman was right when she said he needed rest before he took on the next fight.
What if she ran while he slept? He could, and would, make sure she was tightly bound, but that didn’t mean she might not escape while he was senseless. She’d make her way to Arthes if she did escape, and warn Jahn that his brother was no longer entirely his brother, that the man who wore a prince’s face wished him dead.
Would Jahn believe her, a strange, sensuous woman who dropped out of nowhere? Not necessarily. The thought soothed Trystan. He could kill Jahn while he was trying to convince him of the truth.
He’d been second best long enough. Born a few minutes too late, born to a battle which could not be shared—born in the shadow of his brother and destined to fight the shadow of his soul.
Trystan saw to Sanura once he had fed himself. He gave her some water, but not too much. He shoved a leaf wrapped around a small piece of wild fruit into her mouth, and before she swallowed, he followed with another, reminding her that if she had not scared off the horse, they might be eating bread and dried meat instead of foraged plant life. Her mouth touched his fingers, and he was reminded sharply that he still had not bedded her. He was also reminded that he did not dare.
Sleep was coming upon him; he felt it. He bound Sanura’s wrists more tightly than before, and made sure that her ankles were lashed together as well. From about her waist he took the other end of the rope he’d fashioned from her underskirt and tied it to his own. If she moved about too much, she would wake him. There was little rope left after he attached it to his own waist, so they were forced to lie down close together. He expected she would stay as far away from him as possible, but instead she settled down close to his side. It was disconcerting.
He could feel her body heat, her closeness. Her hand settled on his side, soft and warm. The fingers barely moved, but they did move. She sighed, and he could feel her breath. Her body shifted and was suddenly closer to his, so close that he could feel the energy rolling off her flesh. She said not a word, and she did not blatantly touch, but she was there, so damned close he could feel her. She was still trying to seduce him; she was simply trying to be clever about it.
He could resist Sanura. She underestimated his patience. Thirty-one years of being restrained had forced that patience upon him.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, she spoke. “Perhaps you are right,” she whispered. “What you said about us being two sides of the same coin, I suppose that could be true.”
“Of course it is.” He was being pulled toward slumber, but she continued to speak.
“Besides, what woman would not want to be empress? I am so tired of walking, of being dirty, of wearing this horrid hand-me-down dress, of being forced to run and hide from men who think I’m a murderess.” She sighed. “I want a bath and servants and clothes and jewels. I want to sleep in a soft bed and make proper love to a proper man. I want...”
“I don’t care what you want,” Trystan said testily. “Shut up, or I will kill you.”
“No, you won’t,” she said confidently.
He rolled atop her, crushing her into the ground with the weight of his body, wishing he could see her face more clearly. In the dark of night beneath the heavy limbs of ancient trees, it was impossible to see more than the shape of her cheek and the very faint shine of her eyes. “Do you think what remains of Alix will save you? Do you think I’m incapable of wrapping my hands around your throat right now and squeezing the life out of you?”
“No,” she whispered. “But I do believe you will keep me alive at least until you have what you want of me. If I can make you want me more, if I can make you need me, then perhaps you will allow me to live a while longer.”
“You overestimate yourself,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
The fingertips of her bound hands raked against his stomach as they moved lower. Everything in him tightened. If she touched him, he would be lost. He would lose control and bury himself inside her, and then she would see. She would see Alix; she would see Trystan’s weaknesses.
He could not lose control, but it would be lovely if she did. She thought she had command of this situation, of him, but she was wrong. He had command of everything— including her. He slid his body downward, moving his hard cock out of her reach.
“If you will not let me sleep, I suppose I should make the best of the night,” he said as he pushed her skirt high.
“Yes,” she whispered, and though he could not see her face, he heard the apprehension in her voice.
“This is why you were created, after all,” he said as he slid his hand between her thighs. “You are and always have been a pleasure slave, an offering to men’s needs and desires. ”
“Yes,” she said again.
He lifted her legs and parted her knees, leaving her ankles bound as her wrists were. His fingers found her slick center. He stroked and she responded. “You said once that you were made to give pleasure, not to take.”
“That is true.”
“I can make you take,” he whispered. “Not Alix, a man you claim to love, not Jahn, who supposedly possesses you, but me. A dark soul you despise, the death of the man you love . . . I can make you scream.”
“You can,” she whispered.
Sanura likely thought that he would take her on the ground, that he would jump upon her and penetrate her and allow her to see all that he was. She was wrong.
He slipped a finger inside her warmth. “Do you like that?” He could tell by her reaction that she did.
“Yes, but I want more.”
“You’ll get more,” he promised her. “There is no need to rush.”
He moved back up her body. A bit of moonlight broke through the limbs overhead and illuminated her face. It was flawless, no matter what the shade, and it was full of desire. Desire not for Alix, but for him. Perhaps her motives were not in his best interest, but she did want him.
“Unfasten your dress, as you did last night.”
She did so, moving quickly and clumsily in her haste. When that was done, he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head so she could not touch him and take control of this game, then leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth. He suckled soft and then hard, deep and then shallow, while his free hand very lightly trailed against the soft folds of flesh he wanted so badly but would not take tonight. Soon her body took on a rhythm of its own, a rhythm that sang of the rush of blood and ancient need. Her hips rocked against his hand, her back swayed off the ground to bring her breasts closer to his mouth. Trystan trailed his mouth down to the tip of her opened bodice, then flicked his tongue between fabric and skin before allowing his mouth once again to find the swell of her breasts, her nipples, and her throat.
His touch was light and easy as he aroused her. She had begun this game thinking to seduce him, but he was the one seducing her. The thought made him laugh as his tongue found and tasted the hollow at the base of her throat.
“What’s so funny?” she asked breathlessly.
“You,” he said. “Me,” he added. “Is anyone what they appear to be at first glance?”
