A Warlord's Lady (6 page)

I turned and surveyed the room; it was lovely, made for the likes of a princess, or the concubine I would become.

To my left was a stone alcove and there a golden shower and plunge bath were nestled gently in the corner. Tentatively, I walked towards it, expecting someone to burst in upon me at any moment, but no one did.

Without waiting any longer, I turned on the golden taps, climbed into the shower well, and huge heavy droplets of water began to drench me. I sighed with pleasure as they eased the purpling bruises that marred my body. To my right was a small table, hewn from the same stone on which shampoos, soaps and cleansers stood, awaiting my attention.

I washed lavishly, closing my eyes and quelling the worry by soaping my body and scrubbing with a mauve flannel until my skin practically shone.

Eventually, I’d had enough and turned off the golden taps, searching around for a towel.

There were three small towels neatly folded on a dresser and I approached them, leaving a trail of water on the cool stone floor. I was used to big bath sheets, not puny towels and I felt somewhat annoyed that my captor had not provided me with adequate drying equipment. Yet, with no one to complain to, I dried myself, towelling my hair dry and sponging up the droplets from my body.

When I was dry, I looked around for something to wear. There was nothing immediately visible. I walked cautiously to a cupboard on my right, but it was empty.

Sighing, I walked towards the balcony again, carefully camouflaging myself to preserve my modesty should anyone see me.

I walked through the bay doors and leaned my hands against the spongy, moist moss of the balustrade and looked down.

‘I hope you don’t intend to jump.’ A voice came from behind me.

My stomach lurched into my throat and my heart constricted as if garrotted. I turned, and there he was, the Warlord, Cain Dath. He stood in loose, faded blue jeans, bare feet, and another snug white tee-shirt. The dark tan of his skin contrasted with stark beauty against the cloth, and I noticed the muscles in his neck tense as he obviously waited for my response.

‘No,’ I croaked, all too aware that I was naked and, due to my nervousness, was camouflaging badly.

A smile eased the line of his lips and he let out a slow breath, as if he’d been holding on to one. Like a gentleman, his gaze stayed locked on my eyes, not once flickering to my breasts and lower body that were randomly fluctuating in colour.

‘Why am I here?’ I asked, raising one hand to try and cover at least my nipples, and lowering the other to cover my shamefully bushy and colourful pubes.

Without answering, the Warlord uttered a spell and a loose silken wrap appeared in a shimmer of magical ions in his hands. It was as rainbow-hued as me, and as light as air. ‘Here,’ he murmured, and stepped toward me. The silk loosened and he extended it to me, as if expecting me to step into it and allow him to wrap it around me, like a lover might. Instead, I snatched it from him and wrapped it around myself, cinching the ribbon tight around my waist to hold it closed.

He didn’t seem perturbed by my rudeness, if anything there was a slight movement in his eyebrow and a hint of amusement in his eye.

‘Why am I here?’ I repeated, feeling a little stronger now that I was somewhat covered. Yet his presence was so unsettling. Just as in the bar, my body seemed to react to his. Horny, traitorous, lustful and dirty thoughts cart-wheeled through my brain.

The Warlord stepped closer, and at this new proximity I could smell him. His scent was an olfactory assault of magnificently sensual proportions. He was spicy and exotic, less like perfumed cigarettes and more like pure magic. There was power in his scent, and Lord it was delectable.

Before I could stop myself, I was in his arms, moulded to him like putty. He raised a hand and tilted my chin so my lips could meet his. I’d wanted this from the very first moment I’d seen him, and despite the fact he’d kidnapped me and slaughtered my travel companion, I waited breathless for his kiss.

That one kiss was more than I could have hoped, or ever dreamed — and it doomed me to six months of captivity. His lips met mine in an explosion of desire. We kissed, experimenting, tasting and exploring. Every fibre of my brain told me I should stop, that what I was doing was dangerous and extremely wrong, but my body and, dare I say, my heart convinced me it was right.

Without moving his mouth from mine, the Warlord’s searching hands slipped up my sides and discreetly loosened the ribbon that held the wrap closed. The silk, smooth as it was, slipped from my shoulders and fell to the floor like liquid. He caught my gasp in his mouth and soothed me with his hands, stroking my back, my hair, my bum. Yet instead of soothing, his hands seemed to arouse me even further. They dusted my body with exquisite sensations and left me weak-kneed and wanting. I didn’t fight when he scooped me into his arms and walked back from the balcony toward the mosquito-netted bed. I couldn’t have fought even if I’d wanted to, which I’ll confess here and now, I certainly didn’t.

I lay back on the mauve linen of the bed; the air was warm and sultry, and swiftly replaced by the hot length of the Warlord’s body over mine. Was it magic he used? I had the sense to wonder, if only for a moment, but swiftly discarded the thought and relegated control to my body rather than my mind.

My hands roved over the Warlord’s back, and he nestled between my legs, strong and wanting. He was still fully clothed, and I found this absurdly irritating. The soft cotton of his tee-shirt seemed abrasive against my naked skin, and I could feel him strain beneath the confines of his zipped-up jeans. A need so great it was crippling swallowed me, and I found my own hands tugging and tearing at his cotton shirt with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. I wanted to be an animal, to tear off his clothes and goad him into taking me, as brutally or as gently as he cared.

Unsurprisingly perhaps, my wishes were shortly answered. His kisses became more frantic, his hands more demanding. They slipped between our bodies and found me wet and desperately wanting. I cried out at his touch and, with a final jerk, I tore the remainder of his shirt away. He sunk onto me, chest to breast. I groaned, feeling the heat from the divinely sculpted planes of his body crush against me. I opened my eyes to see his heavy-lidded gaze on me intently. There may have been a question in their depths, a question I didn’t need to answer, because in a shimmer of magic the barrier of his jeans was gone.

I felt faint as the warm, large part of him nestled closely to my most intimate parts. I wanted this so badly I could scarcely breathe. I knew my skin was a riot of colour; I could feel the electric spasms of my cells shifting and changing, and saw it reflected in the darkness of his eyes. It was all the consent he needed.

With a grunt I was suddenly impaled. I was gloriously, outrageously filled by him. The thick heat of him nearly brought me to tears for the sheer pleasure of it. I rocked beneath him, goading him further and faster. The Warlord obliged me, as I later learned he would always oblige me in such things.

Even now, I do not know how long I spent in bed with him that day. Hours were meaningless; I wanted nothing but his touch and he gave it without reserve. I know you must all think such terrible thoughts of me, because for a long time I thought them about myself. For the next six months of my captivity I couldn’t refuse him, and didn’t want to. A love slave in the truest form, I felt I could survive on his sex alone. It was only when I realised there were others that my brain finally took control. The man who spent hours in my bed, sating and pleasuring me, had a harem of other women — all ready and willing to perform the duties I so readily and joyfully did. I confess to you now, it was jealousy that made me find my brain, my consciousness, again. I found this truth so painful that even though I still melted into his every embrace, and allowed him liberties with my body I still blush to admit — secretly, I began to plan an escape.

Cain shook his head without a word. With a gentle utterance beneath his breath, Sabra jerked and suddenly found herself enveloped in a snug pair of jeans and a woollen sweater.

She waited for the Magical Ion Sensing Device to alert. It stayed silent, flashing a lone green LCD bulb.

‘I said I’m not going,’ Sabra cried, fighting the urge to tear off the clothes he’d so quickly supplied.

‘Why?’ Cain grated, irritation evident in his tone.

‘I’m not going back to be your sex toy!’

‘I never said you were my sex toy,’ he replied stiffly, and ran a hand down her arm leaving a trail of heat in its stead.

‘That’s how I felt.’ There, she’d said it, petty and ridiculous as it sounded.

Cain was silent and impassive, and the silence compelled her to continue.

‘I don’t want to live like that again. You’re a murderer, a criminal…’

He didn’t deny it, but his touch grazed her skin again. For a moment Sabra struggled to not succumb and stay focussed on her anger. ‘Don’t touch me. You treated me like a toy. We barely spoke. We’d just fuck! What kind of life is that?’

‘A very good one, I’d imagine.’ Jürgen’s dry tone chipped in from behind.

Sabra turned and scowled at the massive blond.

‘I’m serious, Boss, we’ve got to go, unless you
want
to use more magic…’

Cain seemed to consider it for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Not necessary,’ he rumbled.

‘Then, let’s get out of here,’ Jürgen urged.

‘No!’ Sabra cried, as Cain caught her hand to pull her.

Again, her heart stilled at his touch, all breath left her. She caught his eyes and found them near black with desire.

For me…

Jürgen rushed down the stairs and fired some shots through the glass of her front door as a warning to the special task force that waited outside.

‘Round the back!’ Jürgen called up the stairwell, but Sabra stood fast. She glared at Cain, though internally she wanted to rip his clothes off and lick his chest like a wildly excited puppy.

‘Sabra.’ He breathed her name and she felt it against the skin of her cheek. Beneath his magically-conjured sweater her skin rippled with anticipation.

I can’t let him take me away,
she thought weakly, and retreated deep inside herself to try and stem the desire to just meekly follow.

‘Sabra,’ he breathed again, and this time she knew he hadn’t even spoken. He was using his magic, his sex-inducing magic to coax and tempt her.

He is a murderer, he treats me like a sex toy, he has other women…
The thought ripped through the fuzz of her mind with the edge of a serrated knife.
Lots of other women
.

‘What do you want from me?’ Sabra cried out, and lurched away.

‘I’ll tell you soon enough, be patient,’ he soothed, speaking as if to a dementia patient.

Sabra shook her head. ‘Why?’ Without awaiting his answer she snapped to action, her ankle twisting on the edge of the landing as she made to escape.

He didn’t answer, instead caught her arm and tugged her to him.

She collided into the hardness of his chest and his mouth covered hers in heat.

Oh, good Lord.

He tasted so good, and she kissed him back before she could stop herself. There was another round of gun fire and it did the job her will was too weak for. She jerked away, looking about frantically. Cain’s heavy-lidded gaze met hers.

‘Come on,’ he urged, a small victorious curl licking the edge of his delectable mouth. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Boss!’ Jürgen sounded worried.

‘No.’ Sabra breathed, and then it happened.

It happened as it had all those months ago.

Cain looked around wildly. ‘Sabra?’ The whites of his eyes were incredulous. ‘What the fuck?’ he snarled, and took a swipe at the air before him.

Sabra watched him silently. How had she done this? Literally, all she’d done was take a step away from him, yet now he couldn’t see her at all. She had all but disappeared from his view, but she was still there. Clearly this was no ordinary camouflage job.

‘Sabra!’ Cain bellowed, swearing and cursing in Lao at the same time. He stalked around the room, still evidently unwilling to use magic to find her.

‘Boss. We’ve got to go.’ Jürgen’s voice sounded strangled and there was another volley of shots.

‘I know you’re still here,’ Cain growled as he stalked around the space she occupied, but missed the spot on which she stood every time.

It was uncanny. How was she doing this?

Sabra didn’t dare move, and breathed shallow, gentle breaths.

Cain let loose another curse and raked over the bottles and perfumes on her dresser in frustration. The motion sent them raining down in a shower of jewel coloured glass. The gesture epitomised the anger his face managed to contain. ‘Come out of hiding. We don’t have time for games.’ He paced around the room, each time missing where she stood.

Games? Who’s been playing the games?
she thought.
Not me
.

‘Boss!’ Jürgen’s voice carried up the stairwell, and it sounded genuinely worried.

‘Please,’ Cain’s voice fell low, ‘where the hell are you?’

Sabra stared at him — with his body clad in black military-style clothing and a gun slung over his shoulder, he looked like something from a gun fanciers’ magazine. Sexy, desirable and dangerous. Her heart sped up, and it was all she could do to control a sharp inhalation of breath.

As she watched, Cain bowed his head, and at the sound of more gunshots fired downstairs, he didn’t even flinch.

With a deep sigh, he moved forward in the room and stopped before her, though he still clearly had no idea she stood only centimetres away from him.

The smell of him made her weak. Spicy, with a twang of sweat that didn’t diminish the attraction in the least. Frozen where she stood, her fingers itched to run the length of his chest, to feel the sculpture of his muscles beneath the rough material of his black shirt.