Bloodstone (34 page)

He chuckled, a gentle, tender sound, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I intend to, sweet, but you’re untouched, and I don’t want to hurt you. Now that you’re properly relaxed, however...” He laid the full length of his torso along hers, sliding his thighs one by one between hers, pressing her legs apart.

She sucked in a breath. How his body could feel hotter than the air in this chamber, she had no idea, but his skin burned everywhere it touched hers, and the long shaft of his desire scorched her belly with its silken thickness. “Oh, so you planned this?” she said, but the words came out breathy rather than bold.

“Um-hmm. This is
my
part of our dream.” She felt his smile against her cheekbone before he clasped her earlobe between his teeth. With his tongue, he flicked the lobe, then laved wet fire around the earring there. “Mmm...just as I imagined. Only sweeter.” Shuddering, he raised himself a little. He slid his hand into the space where their bodies slowly separated, stroking over her breast, touching the nipple with a fingertip, caressing each rib before flattening his palm on her belly and sliding the fingers into the curls covering her mound. With a shaky breath that told her he was reaching the limits of his control, he nudged her legs wider apart. “I want you. Kiros knows I want you, Mirianna. Do you trust me?” His fingers stroked through her curls and massaged her folds.

Just when she thought she had to be sated, freed of all desire, it roared into life again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she panted, knowing this time, it would not be only his fingers that found her pulsing hidden places, but that part of him that would mate with her, would claim her irrevocably as his, that part of him that would spill his seed within her. This, then, was what she’d been waiting for—all those lonely days and nights, those wistful thoughts, unfulfilled yearnings. This was the moment. This was the man.

Opening her eyes, she traced his lips with her fingertips. “I’ve always trusted you, Durren. Even when I didn’t believe.”

He was trembling again. The tremors and his whispered, “Mirianna, love!” cracked her heart so wide she opened her arms and legs and took all of him in, body and soul.

“Imposter! Imposter! I tell you, he’s an imposter!”

The man pretending to be the Master of Nolar jerked wide-awake at the ruckus in the corridor. Between the bed curtains, he saw the door to his chamber, which he’d bolted from the inside upon retiring, had been thrown open. A naked man rushed into that aperture and gestured toward the bed. “There he is! Seize him!”

The imposter stared at the face he’d grown used to seeing in the mirror, a face now worn by the man in the doorway.
What in Beggeth?
Vaulting from the bed, he clutched the pouch at his neck and shouted, “
Immenor!
”

A sequence of thuds told him all the bodies near the door had fallen. He wasted no time wondering how Master Brandelmore had escaped his transference spell but threw on whatever clothing came to hand.

A glimpse in the mirror as he snatched a cloak from a nearby peg showed him a face he hadn’t seen in more than a dozen years. He grinned. “Hello, Syryk, glad to see you haven’t changed a bit.”

Throwing up the hood, he dashed out the room and down a servants’ stairwell before the effects of his immobilizing spell could wear off.

He’d barely reached the stables when shouts rang out from the living quarters. With an oath, Syryk ducked into a vacant stall while soldiers and groomsmen rushed past.
Moments, damn it!
He’d been able to make that spell last twice as long before.

Crouching behind the stall door, he pulled out his pouch and tumbled the chunk of crystal into his hand. Clear as water, the flat surfaces magnified his palm, showing his lifeline as unusually long and confirming what he already knew—nothing, absolutely nothing, remained trapped inside the crystal. He caressed it with fingertips, gauging the broken column’s power, wondering if he dared work a confounding spell. The pouch limited his access. Maybe now, with his skin pressed to the seven planes, he could summon enough—

No. This wasn’t the time or place for a test. Besides, now he’d overcome the surprise of seeing his own face again, he was convinced something—or someone—had broken the transference spell. If the spell had merely weakened, he would’ve noticed a transient shifting of features days ago, but this shift had occurred in the blink of an eye—or rather in the moments just before he’d awakened to the shouting. By all rights, he should have awakened
inside
the crystal! But here he crouched in his own skin, in the body he’d forsaken fourteen years ago when that idiot Drakkonwehr interrupted the Dragon Chant and spell-blasted everyone to Beggeth. Scowling, he slid the crystal into the pouch and tucked it under his tunic. He needed time to think, to probe the crystal for clues, and a place to do so in safety.

Rising from his crouch, he peered between the stall door’s slats. What he needed at this precise moment was a fast horse. Spotting the captain of the guard’s horse already saddled just outside the stable, Syryk applauded his impulse days ago to decamp court to Master Brandelmore’s rarely used “summer home” abutting the Wehrland. He’d risked stirring the staff’s suspicions to bring himself that much closer to Rees and the bloodstones, but his instincts, as usual, proved correct.

He leaped into the saddle and gathered the reins, glad to see he still wore the seal of Nolar. He could flash it at the ill-trained yokels manning the gate in case they tried to bar his way. Just to make sure they wouldn’t think of it, he clutched his pouch and muttered, “
Dymoneseth fyannador!
”

A geyser roared from the courtyard well, turning all heads. Syryk heeled the horse. Outside the gates, he made directly for the Wehrland. Let the fools follow him if they dared. In less than a day, he would have the bloodstones. And then his destiny would be within easy reach.

****

Durren held her as she slept sprawled across him. He may have slept too; he couldn’t tell. She’d cried out when he filled her, but she refused to let him withdraw, digging her fingers into his flesh, scoring him with her nails. “Stay!” she said so fiercely he’d nearly come there and then without giving her the pleasure she deserved for taking him in so deeply, for opening her very heart.

So he’d kissed away her tears, kissed the mouth she offered him. And when she sighed, and the hot, tight sheath that gripped him so deliciously opened a little, he pushed into it, making her forget pain, forget daylight, forget everything but the pleasure, the satisfaction he and he alone could give her. She came in a crescendo, and he rushed after her, emptying himself so thoroughly that for moments—hours, perhaps—he could remember nothing but the sweet bliss of their union.

When she stirred, he coaxed her to bathe in the pool with him, to let the water ease her discomfort, heal the aches caused by his intrusion. He kissed her while he massaged her limbs, and she turned into him, touching his lips with her tongue.

She wrapped herself around him, and he held her up while she explored his mouth until her sweet, tentative caresses turned his blood molten and his fingers dug into her buttocks. She squeaked, and he gasped, “Forgive me! I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” she panted. Then she slid down his torso. “Is it easier...in the water?”

Dear Koronolan, she was trying to mount him! As that sweet spot opened over him, he thrust into her and nearly drowned them. They came up gasping. He latched onto the rocky ledge with one hand while his arm around her hips pulled her all the way down, hard, so their bones ground into each other. When he sucked her whole breast into his mouth, she came with a wild cry. He spilled himself into her, shuddering until he was empty, so empty there was nothing more to give. Then, somehow, they crawled onto the ledge, onto the bed of his clothing, and collapsed.

Now he lay, replete, sated, and loved her.

You can’t stay here forever,
the Voice in his head said.

Fury shot through him, lighting up the darkness behind his eyes.
Go away, damn you!

For how long? Till you get hungry? Do you know how long you’ve been down here?

No! And I don’t care!
They were safe here, cocooned in the darkness that had let them become one. Up there—up there was daylight. He would have to cover himself again, and she would be as a stranger to him, a touch through the barrier of clothing, thin leather as impermeable as a stone wall, cutting him off from her. Here, only here, could they be as they were meant to be, as the dream fulfilled.

You can’t stay here forever,
the Voice in his head repeated.
You tried that before. It didn’t work.

It would have!
But hunger had driven him out of the tunnel then. Hunger and a dogged determination to survive, to somehow defeat Syryk by
living
in the face of death. If what he’d been doing counted as living, that is.

She came to you, you know, because you waited. Because you lived.

The words shook him. The years he’d railed at for passing so slowly, the interminable seasons that changed without changing what mattered had finally brought him...change. If that instrument of change weren’t pressed skin-to-skin to the full length of his body, if her soft breath didn’t tickle his ear and her heart beat solid and steady against his ribs, he would imagine himself dreaming. She chose that moment to stir, to run her hand down his ribs and under his shoulder, snuggling closer.

Dear Koronolan, he loved her! Every move, every sound she made punctured him, drilled holes into him, cut and sliced him into tiny fragments of yearning, bleeding love so great, he ached with the overwhelming pain of it.

He pressed a kiss to her curls, savoring their springiness. He visualized the cloud haloing her head as he’d seen it last in the thin light of dawn. Kiros, he couldn’t have guessed then that his dream of running his bare fingers through their fine silk would at last come true.

Nor could he have guessed she’d come to him, offering herself fearlessly, with no regard for the consequences.

Ah, consequences. So noble of you to consider them—now.

Go to Beggeth! And take your consequences with you!
But the voice was right again. Durren fought the bitterness threatening to swamp him, to overwhelm the newborn joy still so fragile in his heart. He would keep that joy as safe as he would keep her and damn the consequences! She’d given herself to him, purely and innocently. If nothing else, he would cherish that forever.

Sweet sentiments,
said the Voice in his head.
How long will you be satisfied with meeting her here in the dark? How long before you want to “see” her? Like in the dream?

The words punched like a fist to the gut, taking his breath away. Of course he wanted to see her in the light of day. Just once, to see her true body, to replace the dream vision with the glory of her flesh in the radiant sunlight. Her beauty under his fingertips already took his breath away, and he knew—
knew
—she was lovelier than the vision, but he wanted to see, just once...

And when you see her, you’ll want her, then and there.

And then he would kill her.

Ice water poured into Durren’s veins, raising goose flesh over his body. She would see him, revealed, and the sight would kill her. With a groan, he pinched his eyes shut and buried his face in her hair.

She stirred, snuggling against his throat. The gesture, so trusting, cut him in two.

“Mirianna, sweet, we should—” He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Mmm. For you?”

He sucked in a breath as her hand trailed down his abdomen. “Um, I meant food, love.”

“I brought eggs.”

He felt inordinately dimwitted as her finger played with his navel. “Eggs?”

She nodded against his chest. “I thought you might be hungry after—after being down here so long.”

That she’d thought of his basic human need for food, for sustenance, stirred something inside of him, not the passion that still roared in his blood, but something that arrowed straight to his heart. “Thank you...for the eggs, Mirianna.”

She sat up, and he flinched, the separation of her skin from his like a ripping of flesh. He ground his teeth at the fiery pain, but she’d already moved away, and he heard her picking up and discarding clothing. “Where’s my skirt?”

He sat up as the chill of her absence seared the burning parts of his body, making him gasp again. Dear Koronolan, was this how it would be every time she left him after their lovemaking?

Pleasure? Pain? Sounds like love,
said the Voice in his head.
Are you man enough to take it? Or will you let the Shadow run away with you again?

Go to Beggeth!

Can’t be worse than this place. Without her.

Durren hugged his belly, trying to catch his breath, to master the pain before it swamped him. She was inching farther away, rummaging in the dark. “Love, please, you’ll fall in the pool. Or cut yourself on the rocks.”

“Then help me.”

“Put on your clothes. I’ll look in the pool.” He stood, but he couldn’t straighten up. He bent again, gathering her clothes, handing them to her as he passed, moving as fast as he dared, as fast as the stabbing pain would let him. The water would stop the misery, would relieve the pain, and he’d be able to breathe again. He slid into the pool, moving toward the shallows where he’d seen part of her skirt snagged on the rocks, but the garment was gone. “It’s lost,” he said, wincing as another spasm struck.

She made a noise of frustration. “We’ll have to go up, then, and I’ll make you some more. The others will probably be hungry too. I wonder how long we’ve been here.”

Hearing the rustle of fabric, the sounds of movement as she dressed, he remembered he’d torn whatever garment had covered her face in the pool. “Love,” he said, measuring his breath, “do you have enough clothing to cover yourself?”