Rogue's Pawn (23 page)

“Are you so sure it would be?”

His face sharpened, gaze pinning me. “You have no idea what I’m offering you.”

“I do,” Dragonfly chimed in and he caressed her curls.

“Well, then,” I said in a bright voice, “I’ll just leave you two alone then, shall I?”

“You don’t want to watch?” Rogue sipped from his wine, watching me over the rim, even as Dragonfly reached up with her delicate fingers to undo the fabric covering that hard ridge I’d touched last night.

“Golly, gee whiz, what a neat idea, but no—I’ll pass.” I turned around and looked for some shoes. I was tempted to call Dragonfly to find them, but that would be petty.

“You do realize, darling Gwynn, that if you continue your games, I can always go elsewhere. Where will you go?”

“There are other men.” I scrambled around in my wardrobe.
God, not the heels right now.

“If you conceive by another man—and you would, given what Healer has done for you—you would be in violation of our agreement.”

“So noted.” I found my shoes, laid them out with one hand and stepped into them, still holding my apple in the other, juices running down my arm. Then I paused. “No, wait. This is
my
tent. You two can go elsewhere.”

“I am…otherwise occupied at the moment.”

His voice was a taunt to make me look, but I refused to turn around. I bit again into the fruit, crunching loudly so I couldn’t hear any potential…noises. The image in my head was vivid enough. Dark blood suffusing his face with pleasure, the tension riding his body. And I had to admit, if only to myself, that I burned with curiosity—and not a little prurience—to see what his organ looked like. I’d only ever seen circumcised men in the flesh and I doubted that the covenant of Abraham had made it here. For all I knew, Rogue had a forked penis, being the snake he was. I was pissed enough to deliberately leak the thought.

Rogue chuckled, then groaned in pleasure, leaking back an image to me of Dragonfly’s adorable upturned face. Unable to stand it, I stormed out of the tent, nearly bowling Larch over. For once, I was glad of the training—the torments they dreamed up if I allowed anything magical to manifest to defend myself. I could feel that cool barrier even now, between the anger—
not
hurt—and the manifestation.

I would control myself.

No matter how much I wanted to be not just the witch-queen but also the black and purple dragon on the cliff, calling lightning strikes down.

Chapter Twenty-Four

In Which I’m Shown a Thing or Two

I strode fast, strong, out of that dammed camp, ignoring the startled and titillated looks thrown my way. I headed toward the waterfall I’d seen when we rode in, toward green, which had always been my refuge. Not like me—the former me—not to wander out to see the natural.

Of course, I wasn’t that person anymore, was I? In some ways I still crouched in my little cell. Not really free at all. Trapped by my own fears.

Larch trotted at my heels and I wheeled around and hissed at him to go away. He watched me impassively.

“Go take your master a hanky or something!”

“It’s not safe for my lady to be alone out of camp.”

“Don’t worry—I’m thinking lightning strikes at anything that moves at the moment, including annoying little Brownies.”

Larch considered me for a moment. “I’m surprised you let him manipulate you like this.”

I huffed, at a loss. Hurled the apple at nothing in particular, then turned and continued walking. Larch followed. I was tempted to give him a little shock, just to jolt him out of his confidence, but I didn’t want to risk really hurting him. Maybe I’d practice on Dragonfly.

Larch had a point though. Rogue was deliberately pushing my buttons, which I saw coming a mile off and still walked right into.

And I couldn’t escape the parallel, that here I was, storming off to take a walk around rocks and trees, all because I couldn’t face some guy again. Though the deadly dark image of Rogue leaning against my bench, dangerous velvet framed by jewel-tone pillows and hot morning light while that pink-and-gold faerie…tended to him was wildly removed from Clive spouting convenient statistics to his cronies.

Finding a secluded spot under a tree, with a lovely view of the falls, I plopped myself down, wiping the sticky juice off my hand on the lush grass.

“Please go away,” I begged Larch. He looked dubious. “If Rogue leaves and I’m still here later, you can sign me up for karate lessons or whatever, okay? For now, give me a knife or something.”

“Do you even know how to use one?”

“What’s to know? You stick the sharp pointy part into people you don’t like, right?”

“Getting it into the proper position takes a bit more trouble than that.” But I could tell he was amused.

“Look, I’ve used thousands of scalpels and I’ve cut up more chickens and veggies than that. Give me a knife and if someone gets close enough to me to hurt me, that’ll be close enough to slice them up.”

He didn’t look happy but bowed gravely and handed me a gray-handled knife on open palms, like a ceremonial offering. I set it on the grass beside me and watched absently as he headed back the way we came. Wedging my back against the tree, I drew up my knees and hugged them, then laid a cheek on my knee, watching the bright splash of water.

I tried some calming breaths, but my heart still roiled.

I was losing track of my role in this game and needed to keep my eye on the prize. Get out of my bargain with Rogue—and Falcon, if possible—and get myself back home. Getting myself home would solve all of these problems.
Focus
.

In some ways, it would be so easy, so gratifying to just give in. Just eat the pomegranate seed—
aren’t you hungry? So juicy and sweet…
Hades was both Persephone’s captor and her husband, enemy and lover together. Perhaps the Greeks understood that message—two faces of the same coin. And then I would be as lost as Persephone, facing the winter of her heart.

“You missed the show.”

I sighed and didn’t look up. “Speak of the devil.”

“Sulking?”

“Thinking.”

“Well, get up—I want to show you one more thing.”

I turned my head and squinted up at Rogue, the high sun outlining him in cerulean. He held one long-fingered hand down to me, to help me up. The way he was silhouetted, I couldn’t tell if he was still hard or not, if it had been a trick or real. I hadn’t been sitting there all that long. But then, how long did it take? Not long, in my experience.

I decided it didn’t matter and I needed to keep compliant with our bargain. I gave him my hand and let him haul me to my feet. His fingers caressed the sensitive skin under my wrist. I clamped down on my shivering response. At least I was wearing more than I had been last night, even if they were technically nightclothes.

“Now what?” I asked. “What’s your new battle strategy?” That would decide mine. For the moment. Then I’d develop a long-term plan. “I should warn you that last trick didn’t advance your cause.”

“That all depends on what my cause is, doesn’t it?”

“You know, you could just explain…”

“Spread your legs.”

I gaped at him. Closed my mouth. Pursed my lips.

“No,” I said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

Irritation crossed his face, maybe had never left it since he appeared in my tent this morning.

“One hand, over the clothes, you allow it or the bargain is moot. Don’t make me warn you again, Gwynn. The consequences for oath-breakers are not ones you should take lightly. Even I cannot protect you from that.” Rogue leaned in, crowding me against the tree without touching me, beyond the rhythmic stroking fingers on my wrist. His touch on my skin sent whispers of longing into me. Intensifying as he caressed my palm. Then he interlaced his fingers with mine.

“Gwynn,” he whispered, “let me touch you. You have before. Flirt with me, keep to your bargain.”

Nervous, I tried to look for witnesses, but I couldn’t see around Rogue’s tall figure. He had his hair pulled back, cheekbones stark under the gold skin and snaking black pattern. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. Of course, I could just give in now. Go with him and have a bed and tender kisses in privacy to soften the edges.

No. That was pet-Gwynn talking. Give in. Just do what they want. So much easier to be numb and lap up the crumbs of pleasure any of them cared to toss me.
They have all the power,
Larch’s words echoed in my head.

Oh no, they did not. Not while I had breath left in my body.

I nodded and triumph lit his eyes.
Sure, Rogue—underestimate me again. Please.

Rogue lifted my hand—for a moment I thought he’d kiss it, but he restrained himself—then raised it above my head and gently guided my fingers around the tree branch over my head.

“You might want to hold on with both hands.” He set his own right hand next to mine on the branch, fingers so long they wrapped nearly all the way around while mine made it barely halfway—and I had fingers long enough to easily reach an octave stretch on the piano. “Spread your legs,” he reminded me, voice husky, eyes midnight dark.

I decided to go ahead and hold on to the limb with both hands. And inched my feet apart.

A sudden smile flashed across his face. He stroked my cheek with one long finger. “Wider, Gwynn.”

I looked away. He traced down my jaw, fingers and thumb bracketing my throat, where I was sure he could feel my pulse pounding. Oddly, it soothed me to feel his touch there, not unlike my own habit of feeling for the absence of the silver collar.

“Open for me just a little more, precious Gwynhwyvar,” he crooned. “White shadow, white ghost, pale shade of things to come.” The bark was gritty and real under my hands, but otherwise I hung suspended in his voice, caught in the blaze of his eyes.

I spread my legs for him.

His croon dropped into a wordless hum, hand dropping down over the green velvet, lingering briefly over the rise of my breasts, then smoothing over the curve of my waist and hip. I nearly lost my nerve and had to fight not to close my legs. So vulnerable, standing open like that.
You can take this. You’ve withstood far worse
.

As his hand traced down the outside of my thigh, and then inevitably back up the tender inner thigh, I dropped my eyes, thoroughly unable to bear the intensity of it. Rogue leaned in, so I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. Cinnamon and mace.

“If you can’t take any more, just give me the word,” he whispered. “At any time, just tell me that you’ll give yourself to me. That’s all it takes.”

Like hell, I thought. I opened my mouth to tell Rogue that he could go straight there…and lost all my breath in a convulsive rush when he slipped his hand up.

He cupped my mound firmly, pressing the soft cloth against me. My head fell back and I shuddered, staring at my white fingers digging into the bark, trying to slow my heart and regain my breath. I knew he was watching me and I wished fervently for a way to hide. I turned my face into the folds of the full sleeve of the robe, where it gathered around my shoulder, my forearms rising like pale flower stems, a fragile tether to the branch above.

“I can still see you.” The low hum of his voice filled me. “You cannot hide your ardor from me, passionate Gwynn.”

I hung there, suspended between the branch and his hand, refusing to look. Concentrating everything on keeping still, not squirming, not writhing. I focused on keeping my breath deep and even, no moaning allowed. All I had to do was not move. Deep, even breaths.
Think of something else.

Rogue’s crooning to me became a low song that seemed to penetrate my blood. Another variation on the faerie singing. I tried to block it out the way I had before, but it seemed to seep through my pores, a distant thunder resonating in my bones. And, for some reason, it didn’t bother me in the same way. Instead it felt…alluring. The heat in my groin grew, and Rogue’s hand—long fingers cupping me, penetrating hot, nearly bearing my weight—became the center of the vibration, streaking into the swollen tissues like heat lightning. My whole body clenched and my shocked gaze flew up to find his only a breath away. His eyes were molten blue, chromium on boil.

I nearly convulsed again as the hot oscillation filled me. I tried to be still, to absorb it, bleed the building tension away.

Breathe it out.

But then another rill of sensation would rock me. Building in unbearable pressure. Climbing so that I was going to orgasm, right here, back against a tree, the bright light of day burning on my face while he watched.

“Please…” I gasped.

“You know how to stop it.” His voice resonant, lips seductive. “Give in to me, my Gwynn. Come with me and leave this horrible place.” His words hummed in my blood, hypnotic. So help me, I wanted to say yes.

I longed to fasten myself to his lips, throw myself around him and give in, open, yield. Giving way would be easier.

So much easier.

Another wrenching wave of pleasure racked me, bringing a keening cry. Rogue was driving me up, beyond where I could deny my own release. His long fingers burned into me as if delving into my deepest parts, wrenching the climax from me, dragging it into the bright light of day for him to devour. His face, so close to mine, shone with avid hunger, the obsidian pattern pulsing.

The lines gathered, filling my vision, as darkness rushed in from the edges of my retinas. Black filled with pounding red, spiked with bright stars of wildly flashing neurons.

Everything in me engorged with blood, filled to bursting.

I screamed when the blood dam broke.

Screamed out to the sky all my frustration and exaltation and rage.

I rode Rogue’s hand like a plunging horse, careening through the pulsing waves of his magic. The words were on my lips, ready to tumble out.

Yes,
I wanted to scream.
Yes, take me, do whatever you wish with me.

It terrified me.
Never again!

So I seized the emotion. Seized it, tore down the cool barrier and threw that impulse, that final surge of yielding so profound that the self was immolated, into the vast sky.

And it roared back down on us, a lightning bolt sundering the tree.