Beneath the Thirteen Moons (11 page)

There he goes again, thought Mahri, using words I can’t understand. Forcing her to remain clueless or display her own ignorance. But it didn’t matter. She giggled and lifted her bottom so Korl could slide her dress underneath her. The sweet, sweet feel of cool air against her naked skin made her long to stretch like a treecat and wriggle the rest of her way out of that blasted silk.

Korl growled when she did just that, his eyes for a moment flashing with root-Power, illuminating the planes of his face, the intense longing in his soul. The nightly
rain began, drops hitting Mahri’s exposed breasts; sudden slaps of gentle pain. The flower responded by closing the petals above them, plunging them into darkness illuminated only by the golden glow of the pollen, which heightened her senses even further, straining to hear his breath, the beat of his heart.

She jumped at the sudden loud sounds of ripping smink fur. Held her breath, waiting for him to touch her again. Mahri couldn’t think of her past, nor of the future. The present was all that mattered.

Having the man that saved her life quenching the fire that burned between her legs, in her heart, throughout her soul.

She cursed him when he didn’t come to her quickly enough, when he teased her with only the touch of his tongue, licking the drops of rain from her breasts. She could feel him smile when she arched her back, a silent command to touch her that he ignored, letting her writhe shamelessly, until she managed to clutch his hair, bring his mouth over her own, sucking at his tongue until he writhed as well.

Love is grand, thought Mahri.

Their bodies entwined, covering them with pollen so thickly that their skin began to glow with a golden light.

Finally, Mahri had the freedom to touch him anywhere she wished, without the fear and confusion that usually followed. She brushed the hair away from his face and allowed her hands to linger in it, traced a path to that full bottom lip, along his cheekbones and across his brows, down his neck to the swell of his shoulders and the rigid planes of his stomach.

Korl explored her as well, with a less than gentle
hand. He touched her with a fierce possessiveness, pulling her against him so that she felt the hardness of his want for her, and she let him… let him push against her own wet heat, consumed by a frantic desire that satiated her soul and allowed her heart to soar.

Yet, in a tiny corner of her mind lay the knowledge that he had manipulated her, using the gifts of Sea Forest to get what he wanted. When he drove into her she screamed aloud in joy and anger, and as the rain began to pound in earnest against the petals of their shelter, so did Korl pound himself into her, trying to lay a claim and Mahri fighting it all the way.

She sensed the undercurrent of violence that lay in this night and somehow knew that when the rain brought a storm that shook the foundations of their xynth flower, it damaged the root vine and killed the blossom for another thousand moons.

“C
ARIA,” WHISPERED
M
AHRI, SHAKING THE SLEEPING
woman’s shoulder.

The blonde woman cracked open an eyelid. “What?”

“I wanted to say goodbye.”

Caria slapped a hand over her face and rubbed at her lids. “Goodbye? What do you mean? It’s the middle of the night!”

Mahri readjusted the pack slung over her shoulder. It’d been two weeks since the night of the party and Korl’s use of the xynth flower. And she’d tried— unsuccessfully—to avoid Korl since. But it seemed like every time she turned around, there he was, making her long for something that could never be.

“Shh,” she commanded. “You’ll wake him up.”

Wald snorted and rolled over. Caria blinked. “He sleeps like a snar-fish.”

Mahri shook her head. “Not him, the Healer.” And she glanced around the room, expecting that handsome face to materialize from any corner.

Caria sat up. “So that’s what this is all about. Well, Korl hasn’t slept in the house since the night of the dance. I don’t know where he goes at night but I thought you would.”

“I’ve been too busy trying to avoid him.”

The blonde woman stifled a yawn. “And now you’re trying to sneak off and leave him behind, is that it?”

Mahri nodded. “Aya. I can’t stay here any longer, with him around. It’s like there’s some kind of force that pulls me to him and I’m just plain tired of fighting it.”

“I’m sure if we talked about this…” Caria swung her legs out of bed, shivered in the cool night air as she uncovered a light globe, and blinked up at her sister.

“It wouldn’t change my mind. I’ve decided to leave him here, see if I can get any news from the city about his disappearance and if they’re still looking for him. I can decide what to do after that.”

Jaja bounded into the room, hopped onto the bed, and eyed Mahri’s traveling clothes with something akin to humor.

“I still think,” muttered Caria, reaching out to the monk-fish, “that you can trust Korl to keep our secrets.” She hugged Jaja to her and smoothed the silky scales in a parting caress.

“You have more faith in him than I do. The Royals would kill to know the source of our root and would love to hunt a Wilding. I can’t trust him not to betray us.” Mahri swept up Jaja and settled him on her shoulder. “Now, give me whatever zabba the village needs me to trade and let me be on my way. I didn’t wake you for another argument.”

Caria humphed, but fetched the supply of root that had been harvested in the past few weeks. She handed it over with a sigh, then grasped Mahri in a desperate hug. “You will come back, won’t you?”

“Aya. The Forest willing.”

The blonde woman handed Mahri a light globe and studied the heart-shaped face. “Running from him won’t help, you know.”

The Wilding shrugged, chewed a bit of root, and lifted the flap of otter skin.

“Jaja thinks something’s terribly funny,” added Caria, as if that would make her think twice about leaving.

Mahri’s sparkling eyes met the soft, brown orbs of her pet. He did seem to be in the throes of some private hilarity. She shrugged, not upsetting his balance on her shoulder in the least, and walked into the night.

The air felt thick with moisture, a prelude to the predictable rainfall, and the perfume of evening blooming flowers, their petals open for their supply of fresh water, mingled with the musky odor of wet undergrowth. The moons lit her path around leaf shadows, so Mahri covered the light globe until she might have need of it when the inevitable storms darkened the sky. She tried not to tiptoe like some kind of thief… or coward, she thought to herself angrily. But she still kept glancing around, expecting to see pale hair lit by moon-glow, a strong mouth that challenged her to kiss it without saying a word.

Mahri breathed a gusty sigh of relief when she reached her boat. Jaja suppressed a snort of laughter. She glanced at her pet and he snickered, holding a tiny webbed hand over his mouth. She might as well quit pretending indifference and give the little scamp the satisfaction of knowing that he’d got to her.

“All right, what’s so funny?” she whispered.

Jaja hopped from her shoulder and leaped into the boat, skipping along its length, occasionally disappearing into the erect narwhal tent. Mahri frowned and stepped onto the deck, felt the heaviness of their anchorage and swore. She lifted the end of a blanket that
protruded from the tent opening and kicked at the bare feet that lay beneath.

“How long’ve you been sleeping on my boat?” she demanded.

Prince Korl crawled out and stretched, his chest expanding to gorgeous proportions. “How long’ve you been avoiding me?” he countered. Then he shook the hair from his face, finger-combed it back and looked at her with hungry eyes.

“Get off my boat.”

“Why? Where’re you going in the middle of the night?”

Mahri shook with frustration, the bit of root she’d taken playing along her pathways like music waiting to be sung. “None of your business!”

He stood, barely swayed against the movement of her craft. He’d slept in nothing but snar-scale leggings, his chest bare and smooth and taunting her with the play of muscles beneath. “You wouldn’t be planning on leaving me here, would you?”

Mahri opened her mouth but couldn’t speak.

“But then, I’ve only your word that you’d take me home and what’s that worth, coming from a water-rat?” He’d stepped near her, his face bare inches away and hardened with anger like a rigid sculpture.

She hadn’t been this close to him since the dance, had avoided the mere sight of him. Mahri groaned. She had hoped that staying away from him would dull the chemistry between them but it only made being close to him again worse.

If he had looked at her hungrily a moment ago, she devoured him now; the tilt of his nose, the sweep of his brow. Without his headband on, the pale strands of his
hair swept across his cheeks, along his jaw, like glowing fibers of silk. She’d missed the sight of him, acknowledged the feeling with self-disgust, then cast it away. She couldn’t look away if she tried so she might as well enjoy it. Mahri licked her lips.

He gritted his teeth. “Stop it,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a shake.

She knew what he meant and didn’t pretend otherwise, but she had no control over the way her body invited his to touch her. And his anger didn’t deter her, she reacted to it the only way her body could react to him at all—with an ache in her groin and a fever in her breast.

Mahri bit her lip. Think with your mind and not your heart and soul, she told herself. He’s using your attraction to him to get what he wants. “I can’t take you home because I can’t trust you not to betray the village… or me.”

Warm rain began to fall, the sound of it overwhelming her senses, for it seemed to enclose them in a cocoon of privacy from the rest of the world. His strong hands relaxed and lowered down her arms, the wetness making them slide erotically across her skin. His voice lowered to a timbre that made her heart skip. “That explains why you won’t take me home but not why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Mahri tried to pull away from him. If he’d stop touching her, she might be able to think straight. “Because I couldn’t trust myself.”

He grinned, anger gone as if it’d never been, that shallow dimple piercing his cheek and curving a drop of rain that traced along his skin. His pale hair now lay flat against his scalp, curling and twisting across his
forehead, and he blinked against the rain, lashes darkened and thick from the wet. “If you took me home, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Aya.”

“But then you might never see me again.” His voice gentled into a tease. “Sure that’s not why you won’t take me back?”

“You conceited—that’s not it at all.”

He slid his palms into her own and held them together, his gaze focused on their entwined fingers, not daring to look at her, as if he knew she couldn’t concentrate when their gazes locked. Or as if he couldn’t. “Listen to me, Mahri Zin. It’s imperative that I return to the palace. Not for my sake, but for my people.”

She felt the warmth of his hands enclosing hers and frowned. He’d touched her more in the past few weeks than she’d been touched in years. Mahri kept her distance from others, even Caria; they seemed to sense it and rarely tried to invade her space. Yet every time he came near her he reached out as if it were the most natural thing in the world for their skin to meet, and her own traitorous body invited him to do it. How could her mind and heart be so at odds with each other?

“Did you hear me?”

“Aya.”

“Do you understand?”

“No, but I can’t wait for you to explain.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. His body might be irresistible, but she knew his mind and found it not the least bit attractive. She used that thought like a weapon. He was arrogant, proud, conceited beyond reason…

Korl squeezed her fingers. “Believe it or not, I’ve
changed.” She snorted. He continued without skipping a beat. “These past few weeks, hunting and working with your people, I’ve come to realize that they’re my people too. And that the only help for them is if I inherit the crown.”

Aya, thought Mahri, conceited beyond reason. “Because you’ll treat them as equals? No longer control the use of zabba? Allow them access to the same knowledge that Royals possess?”

“Well… no.”

Mahri sighed. At least he was being honest.

“But, I
am
different than other Royals. I’d try to make their lives better.”

“And I should believe that because…?”

Korl growled. “What do you think I was doing in the Healer’s Tree? I was learning the art! And do you think my father encouraged me? Not on your life! He almost chose S’raya to rule, because of my ‘weakness for others’ as he called it. Not until he saw that it could… be of benefit to the Royal line did he approve of it, or me.”

Mahri feared to ask what benefit they derived. That flash she’d read in his mind, of a bone-knife plunging at him—could he have used the healing knowledge to defend himself? And what kind of guilt would that cause in his mind?

She tried to twist her fingers from his hands. He tightened his grip. Then she used the Power to tweak his muscles but it didn’t work. Another result of their Bond?

Mahri became aware of the rain beating down on her as strongly as his words. She sighed, and supposed that she should just be grateful that he cared to explain himself to an ignorant Wilding. “You mentioned S’raya before.”

His gaze snapped upward and traveled the contours of her face. “I thought you were in league with her—but you could never… S’raya’s my half-sister, the eldest of Queen P’erll’s children, while I am the eldest of my mother, A’nem.”

Mahri nodded. A’nem died years ago, but it was said that she was King Oshen’s one true love, that P’erll had used guile and trickery to gain her crown. And that her children were just as cunning and ambitious. Dockside rumors held more truth than she’d have credited. “And S’raya wants to rule?”

“She has half my tolerance for root but she plays my father well. The woman has no pride.”

“And you’ve got an overabundance.” How often had it caused him strife with the king? She watched as his brow furrowed in worry, the water skipping across the wrinkles, running a path to the frown that curved his lips. He relaxed his grip on her fingers and she freed them, only to miss the heat of his hands.

Korl swiped rain-soaked hair from her forehead. “I would’ve said the same of you.” He cupped the sides of her face and ran his thumbs back and forth across her cheeks. “S’raya considers hunting Wildings her favorite sport. She’s tried to convince the king of the need for another hunt. With my absence she might even succeed. Considering the alternative, wouldn’t I be a better choice?”

Mahri stiffened. Ach! Another hunt, like the one that had taken her mother. Would they track her down as well, toying with their prey, torturing her until she screamed for the mercy of a quick death? She shuddered. “It’s not up to me.”

“Oh, but it is water-rat. I felt the Touch of a Master
from that ship that pursued us through the cove. If S’raya has somehow formed an alliance with the Seer’s Tree, there’s no one to stop her, except for me. And now, through our Bond, you.”

He lowered his head and raised her face to meet his own. Mahri saw his lips part, the rain making them glisten in the moonlight, and knew that if he kissed her she’d be lost.

“No,” she whispered, pulling away, fighting against that allure with more than physical strength. Did he think that she was so smitten with him that he could use it to influence her decision? Well, her heart didn’t rule her mind, for she’d learned the hard way that therein lay disaster. Brez had made her all sorts of declarations, but in the end he’d left her alone. She couldn’t count on anything… or anyone.

“Words can’t sway me to risk family and friends. You’d say anything to convince me to take you back, don’t you think I know that?”

Korl closed the distance between them. Mahri took a step back. With a roar of frustration he caught her in his arms, strong bands of muscle enclosing her with a heat that took her breath away.

“You won’t believe my words,” he ground out. “Maybe you’ll believe this.” And he replaced the cool wetness of the rain on her lips with the moist heat of his own mouth.

Mahri’s mind screamed at her to make him stop… she even managed to pull her face away from his. He growled deep in his throat, she felt the muscles of his chest quiver with it, then grabbed a handful of her sopping hair to hold her head still.

“Listen to me,” he rasped, but didn’t speak another word, just swooped down on her again, drinking the fresh raindrops from her lips, plunging his tongue into her with fevered passion. Mahri felt overwhelmed by his desire; it was as if he’d held a part of himself back before and had now allowed himself to open the floodgates.

By-the-thirteen-moons! she thought as she panicked beneath the onslaught. Could she even hold all that this man offered her?

His mouth seared her face, his teeth tracing across her cheeks, threatening nips of hunger. He whispered into her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine, his voice husky with an ache that went beyond any yearning that Mahri imagined she’d ever felt for him.