The Reluctant Lord (Dragon Lords) (8 page)

“Mm,” he hummed in approval. He didn’t let go of her right away. Instead, he kept his hand on her sex and his cock buried along the cleft of her ass. Too bad he couldn’t have penetrated her, but he had no complaints. “You are very sweet, bride.”

* * *

Sweet?

The word stuck with her long after Vlad pulled his body away from her. When her senses recovered, she’d been very glad that he could not see her face. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if she’d kept her composure. All she recalled was the bombardment of feelings—tingling, pulling, wetness, friction, burning, pulsing, needing, pleasure, confusion, fear, panic, cellular explosion, and then his hands, his breath, his smell, his body erupting in wet finale.

Clara hoped she had not embarrassed herself. It was just his touch was so…unexpected. She didn’t know how else to describe it. At first, she’d thought he simply meant to ensure their compatibility. Such inspection made sense. It would not do for them to marry only to find out they were not physically compatible. And, since she was clearly not the one to determine such things, it made sense that he would do the inspection. As her husband, he would have full access to her body.

The thought caused her to shiver as she sunk lower into the warmth of the tub. The water had been clear until she washed the blue from her skin. Leaning her head against the rim, she closed her eyes. She instantly saw the appeal of soaking in water. It was much more relaxing than cleaning lasers. The pressure of the water cocooned her, wrapping her like a warm, wet blanket.

“Clara?” The sound was far away. “Clara!”

She jerked when she felt hands touching her naked arms. She flailed in the tub, pushing up with her feet. Blinking heavily, she looked at Vlad.

“You cannot fall asleep in there,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to the bed.”

Her dry hair stuck to her back as he lifted her out of the bath. She had pulled the long length up so it wouldn’t get wet but a few tendrils had come loose. Her father had insisted they learn to swim as children, and she knew from experience that if she got her hair wet, it would take an entire day for it to fully dry. She had a travel laser comb that would take care of cleaning the locks.

Clara closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smelled of the same soap he’d given her to use. Yet somehow on him it smelled different, better.

She heard him whisper, felt the soft cushion as he laid her down. She did not open her eyes. All the worry and stress building up to this ceremony had left her tired now that it was done. She was married. The next generation could begin. There was nothing more for her to do this night.

* * *

Vlad wanted to crawl into bed next to his bride but didn’t want to risk waking her. The other impulse, to stand over her, staring at her beautiful naked body did hold some appeal, but he decided it would be best to leave her be. She’d self-admittedly had a long journey to get to his home world, and he’d already pushed things a little too far with his actions.

But how could he help himself? She was too much to resist. She was his fate, his destiny, his wife.

Even so, he thought it best to keep their almost joining a secret—not that he was one to brag about such things. The elders were very adamant about resisting temptation. Bron even said Elder Bochman would be giving a speech before the ceremony about being strong and brave in the face of that temptation. Vlad grinned. Technically, he had not been given that speech, so his little slip of etiquette could be forgiven.

His bride was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Clara didn’t smile, but he could easily forgive her that. Surely she was tired, and nervous, and perhaps scared of being on a new planet without her friends and family. At least the brides who came from the main bridal ship traveled in a pack. Clara was alone. That easily accounted for her reserved behavior. Once she’d slept more and had a decent meal, everything would fall into place.

He reached to pull the covers over her body and paused. Two faint handprints were outlined in red on her breasts. The coloration was subtle, so much so he’d almost missed it. By the size, they were her hands. He didn’t remember her gripping herself that hard. A slight smile came to him and he forced the mounting desire back into his gut. Vlad covered her with a blanket.

He saw their future clearly. First, they would explore each other and finish what had been started between them. Then they would explore the wilderness—camping, running, hiking through nature—where he could show her the things she’d only seen through a viewing screen. She had a great heart. The way she worried about feeding those less fortunate than herself proved that. He didn’t think much of her society’s custom of forcing orphaned children to serve in another’s home, but he could hardy fault her for the laws of her home world. After the wilderness, he would take her to the village where he’d been born. There, life was simple. There were no castles, no servants, no titles, just people. His people.

Vlad loved his brothers. Just as he had loved his adoptive parents. They were good people. But there was always a part of him that felt he did not belong fully in the world of noblemen. He had a wildness in his soul, a freedom that burned so bright it needed to be released. Yes, he would do the duty his life had dealt him without complaint, but he did not feel like he was a nobleman. Lord Vladan was a title. He was born Vlad. He was just a man.

Vlad smiled at his sleeping bride as he ducked out of the makeshift room to give her quiet. Tonight he was blessed by the gods.

Chapter Five

Clara knew she was not in her own bed before her eyes opened. It wasn’t one thing exactly, but a combination of strange sensations that caused a thread of apprehension to flow over her body to settle in her stomach. The mattress was too soft, the air was too cool and the sounds coming from outside too unfamiliar. Normally, she awoke to the feel of her handmaids touching her. They started working on her hair and feet before she fully awoke in the morning. She’d gotten used to sleeping through the attentions of their administering hands.

Clara turned to the side of the tent. Distant shouts forced her from the bed. Only when her feet hit the floor did she realize she’d slept naked. The realization brought forth the memory of the night before.

You are very sweet, bride.

Sweet. Vlad had called her sweet.

Clara sniffed her arm and flicked her tongue on her flesh. She hardly tasted sweet. He had to mean it as the endearment of the word.

She wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened between them during his scrutiny of her. Perhaps she had been overtired from her journey, overwrought from her new home world, overcome from being left alone amongst half-naked primitives. No. All those things were excuses. She was a lady and she had failed to act as one the night before as she let her body get carried away by her husband’s inspection. Due to the stress of her circumstance, she could forgive herself this one slip. But it would not,
could not
happen again. The last thing her mother had said to her when she left was, “Remember the lady I have raised you to be. You represent all of your family with each action you take. I mourn your going but rejoice in the next generation.”

Clara lifted her hand and let it hover in the air, pretending her mother stood before her. The familiar act brought her a little comfort, false as the comfort was. Whispering into the tent, she said, “I will do what you wish, Mother. Always as you wish.”

One year to get pregnant. That was manageable. The mandatory night in a tent was over. Now they would go to his noble home where she would be more in her element. If the home was not to her standard, she would make it to her standard. Perhaps she could leave it better than she found it. Regardless, anything was better than sleeping in a tent with dirt floors.

A gown had been set out for her on a low table near the bed. She didn’t pick it up. Instead, she ran the back of her wrist over the material. The deep purple color reminded her of her favorite plant, razorwires. They grew in the west gardens of her family’s estate outside the reading room window—deep purple vines with razor-sharp red spikes along the spines. It kept intruders from climbing up to the female suites on the fourth floor. So pretty and so deadly.

She turned her attention to her trunk. The jewel-encrusted gown was inside it—the gown of a lady, the gown of her former life.

Despite her resolve, the upcoming year stretched out before her. Her ship was gone. She was trapped on this strange planet. Having grown up in a house full of siblings, the idea of being alone suddenly terrified her. She’d been so focused on the ceremony and finding a husband as she’d been ordered to do that she hadn’t thought too hard about afterwards.

Her new husband only had three brothers and four cousins. Such a small family. His family. Not hers. She had no one here.

Fear sent a shiver over her body. Her hands shook and she couldn’t control them. Clara took a deep breath. This overly emotional state wouldn’t do. She had to monitor herself.

* * *

Vlad waited for his bride to join him outside the tent. When he’d gone to fetch her she’d insisted she needed more time to ready herself. However, King Llyr and Elder Bochman didn’t appear to be as patient as he. They’d come to witness the end of the ceremony. His aunt, the queen, would normally be in attendance for this part of the event, but she was busy overseeing the morning preparations at the campground below, which was why the elder stood in her place next to the king.

“What news of the others?” Vlad asked his uncle. “Did my family find wives?”

The king grinned and nodded. “Yes, nearly all. It has been a blessed year.”

“Who?” Vlad asked, not needing to clarify the question.

“Mirek did not, but I am sure the gods will bless him next ceremony. We must be happy for the others,” the king said.

Sadness filled him for his brother’s continual bad luck.

“It is a good year,” Bochman agreed. “Many blessings. The gods smile on us.” The elder looked at the sky and then to Vlad. “Perhaps you should go fetch her. The other couples would surely like an opportunity to receive the king’s blessing.”

Vlad looked at his uncle for direction and the king nodded once. Bochman was impatient by nature and a stickler for tradition. Though he would say nothing about Clara’s arrangement, Vlad knew the elder did not personally approve of the special treatment bestowed on the alien noblewoman.

Vlad obeyed, going inside the tent to retrieve his bride. He went to the flap, pushed it open an inch and said through the gap, “Clara?”

“You may enter,” she answered calmly.

Vlad found her seated on the edge of the bed. She wore the enormous gown of her people. The gem-encrusted skirt was wide at the hips to give support to her elbows. Though she did not wear the wig, her hair had been pulled around the top of her head to give a miniature version of the wig’s conical effect. Her face had been unnaturally paled with a white sheen of cosmetics, giving canvas to the purple on her lash and brows. The color brought out the brilliance of her eyes. She’d painted her lips and cheeks a false shade of deep red.

“I left you a gown. Did you not see it?” Vlad gestured to the trunk where the garment lay neatly folded and seemingly untouched. He knew her culture was different than his, but he’d been eager to see her dressed as a Qurilixen lady. The gown he’d given her matched the dark purple tunic he now wore. The seamstress, Arianwen, had been a friend of his mother and still lived in the village where he’d been born.

“It was not presented to me directly and, this being a proper ceremony, I thought it best to dress as a lady for the event.” Clara didn’t move but for the gentle rise and fall of her chest and the subtle gesture of her mouth when she spoke. Her tone was even and tranquil.

Vlad looked at the gown. It was one of the finest his people had to offer—the gown of a noblewoman. Arianwen had sewn it by hand, each stitch, and Clara acted as though it was a rag not befitted to her station.

He tried to be understanding, tried to make excuses as to why she might be so adverse to it, but in the end, the truth was her rejection of it hurt. As he looked at her, he began to question the gods’ decision. How could they bind him to one of the most refined, reserved, frustratingly
perfect
creatures in the universe? Every action seemed practiced, every gesture planned. She was elegance and grace and he desperately wanted wild and passionate. He wanted her to yell if she felt like yelling. He wanted her to smile if she was happy, laugh if she was so inclined. He wanted passion not perfection.

“Are you coming out?” he asked. By the way she was seated on the bed he guessed she’d been dressed for some time. Vlad watched her face. Was she scared? Excited? Bored? He couldn’t tell. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I was waiting for my summons.” Again, she didn’t move to stand.

“They’re waiting for you to come break the crystal.” Vlad moved so he could help her to her feet. However, when he reached to take her arm, she lifted a fist into the air with her elbow bent. It took some hesitant gestures, but he finally realized she wanted him to hook her arm with his. Her hand did not touch him as he pulled her to standing. He felt the weight of the gown as he drew her fully to her feet. If he had his guess, he would say it weighed more than the ancient iron armor his people had used for battle in the centuries before centuries.

Clara artfully untwined her arm from his without letting her fingers touch him. The gown’s skirt, by its very large nature, kept him from getting too close to her. She placed her elbows on the sides of the skirt, bent and rested on the frame. Her hands hung forward, limp. “I am ready.”

Vlad wanted to ask about her composed demeanor but refrained. The two men awaited them outside and he was most eager to finish the ceremony to make her his wife. He led the way out of the tent, pausing only to hold open the tent flaps for her so she could maneuver herself under them. At her appearance, Bochman stiffened. The corner of the king’s mouth twitched ever so slightly before he caught himself.