The Sword And The Pen (5 page)

At an early age, his mother's histrionics had taught him to keep his emotions hidden. A hypochondriac whose husband died, leaving her alone to raise Brandon, she'd projected all her fears onto him. Alternately, she'd cosseted him and demanded he take care of her. When he was twelve, she'd accidentally overdosed on her numerous medications.

Too bad knowing the source of his neuroses didn't make them any easier to live with. He still felt the effects of her bizarre childrearing techniques. If it hadn't been for the stable influence of his paternal grandmother, who'd taken him in and finished raising him, he wondered how truly weird he'd have turned out.

"I beg pardon for my boldness. I know it is forbidden to touch a wizard." Seri pulled her hand back.

Missing her warmth, Brandon looked up. "For the last time, I'm not a wizard."

She tucked her hands between her knees and held his gaze. "Even if you don't send me back to my world, would you grant me one favor?"

He sighed. "What?"

"Let me know my friends' fate before I cease to exist."

The fear in her voice made him reach out and grasp her hands in his own. He ignored the jolt of heat. "You're not going to cease to exist. You're a real person. I can touch you." Wanting to comfort her, he rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands. Though she was strong and unquestionably capable of wielding the sword she carried, her skin felt soft and smooth. "Believe me, fictional characters don't suddenly become flesh and bone."

He once again refused to consider the possibility his grandmother's tales might be true.

"If I'm not Serilda d'Lar of the kingdom of Barue, who am I?"

The despair in her voice and eyes strengthened Brandon's resolve to help her find a way out of her delusion. He squeezed her hands. "That's what we need to figure out."

*** *** ***

The warmth of the sorcerer's hands made my heart race. I wanted to move closer, to curl against his chest, to feel his arms hold me tight. How many years had it been since I'd been able to let go, to allow someone else to shoulder my burdens?

Never.

For some reason my mother and father, though not unkind, hadn't shown me the same warmth they gave my younger siblings. As the oldest child until Roark claimed their lives, I'd been responsible for much of my family's care. The monks had sheltered me, educated me and given me distant affection, but in the end they too fell to Roark's evil; their books and learning provided little protection against Roark's sword. Though Donoval had been my lover and wanted me as his bondmate, his demanded cost--my independence--had been too high. Loving him had frayed my heart, because his heart and soul belonged to Shallon and its people. What he could give me would never be enough.

My longing to be first in someone's heart startled me. I had never thought of it in those terms before.

"Will you let me help you?" he asked.

The wizard's offer touched me, and for a moment his disbelief in who I was made me doubt myself. Part of me wanted to cling to my identity, fictional though it might be; another part wanted to give it up, to become a real woman in this man's strange and alien world. But, no.

I shook my head. It was my bad luck to have been created by a powerful yet inept wizard. "I can't lie to myself. For you to help me--if that's what you intend--you have to believe."

*** *** ***

Brandon rubbed the throbbing spot between his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep, but thoughts of the woman in the room down the hall kept him awake. Not knowing what else to do, he'd shown her to the spare bedroom and retreated to his own. Retreated? Hell, he'd run away.

He shut his eyes and prayed he'd wake up in the morning to discover this was nothing but a dream.

Nope. His eyes popped open. He didn't want Seri to be a dream. For the first time in years, maybe in his entire thirty-five years, he felt alive. Only when he lost himself in his writing did he feel anything close to this.

It figured, that the first woman to attract him in years would be a nutcase who thought she was a fictional character. But, damn it she felt real! Her scent of leather and musk still filled his nostrils. Memory of the soft swell of her breasts over the skimpy leather bra she wore--embarrassingly, he'd really never realized how impractical the costume he'd given her was--made moisture pool in his mouth and his cock come to sudden attention.

He groaned. Since his unsuccessful attempt at a normal life with Wanda, he'd avoided real people. They were difficult, messy creatures that demanded time and attention, energy he could be spending on his writing. Fictional characters were easier. He directed them. They did what he wanted, how and when he wanted. It pained him to realize that he'd tried to get the same from Wanda, which was another reason she'd walked out. Guess the lessons of childhood were harder to dismiss than he thought.

Unable to sleep, he got up and plucked a random book off the bookshelf. When he recognized the title he almost dropped it: Warrior Woman: Serilda's Quest. Book one. Instead, he went back to bed and started to read:

Standing in front of the burned-out shell of what used to be a monastery, at the tender age of ten and six, Serilda d'Lar of the Kingdom of Barue re-vowed her vengeance against Andre Roark. With calm purpose and dry eyes, she found and buried the charred remains of the gentle monks who'd sheltered and raised her for the last six years. After that, she gathered what supplies she could find, turned and never looked back.

Hours passed as Brandon lost himself in the story. Though he'd written the words, while writing he'd often felt as if the story came from somewhere beyond. Again, an echo of his grandmother's warnings sent a shiver down his spine. He read on, amazed at how different the story felt from what he remembered.

Two-thirds of the way through the book, the love scene began. His grip tightened and his heart began to pound.

Serilda knelt on the bed facing Donoval and let the fur slip through her fingers. His blue-green eyes darkened and his fists clenched. Afraid she might change her mind, she couldn't bring herself to lower her gaze. He was an impressive specimen.

"Cover yourself," he said, but didn't look away from her breasts.

When he swallowed heavily, she let her lips curl into a satisfied smile. "Don't deny me this, Donoval. Tomorrow we go into battle. Let me have this memory."

"Tomorrow I go into battle." To emphasize his words he stepped closer to the bed. His warm masculine scent teased her nostrils. "You will remain safely behind the lines."

"Mmmm," she responded. They'd had this fight already. Donoval believed he'd won, but Serilda refused to concede. "Then don't deny me this. I would know what it is to be a woman."

"This is not right. You're but a child!"

At times his sense of honor was downright inconvenient. She reached out and curled her arms around his broad shoulders. "I'm twenty and two, old enough to know my mind."

She pressed her aching breasts against his smooth hard chest. Beneath his heated skin she felt the rapid thud of his heart. As if to push her away, his hands settled on the swell of her hips. Instead, his fingers tightened and he pulled her closer.

"Be sure this is what you want. Once we start I'll not be able to stop." His warm breath brushed over her cheeks.

She looked up into his eyes. The raw passion there made her shiver in fear and anticipation. He wanted her.

Hard and large, his erection pressed against her belly, reminding her of what would come. It made her pause. Perhaps her first encounter shouldn't be so much of a man. Any of Donoval's soldiers would easily grant her a tumble, no strings attached. And she could control them.

No. Sex without caring was empty of meaning. Donoval was the only man she cared about, the only man she trusted; she would have him and no other. Despite his harsh manner and size he'd never hurt her.

She twined her fingers in his shoulder-length hair and tugged his face closer. "Surrender, my love. This is a battle you cannot win."

"In this battle there are no losers." And with a throaty growl he took control and laid her back on the bed.

Warm and hard, his large body covered hers. His erection dug into her belly. Apprehensive of the initial pain of his possession, yet curious to continue the experience, she spread her thighs. He didn't plunge immediately into her, so she clasped his hips with her hands and urged him forward.

"Relax. There's no rush," he murmured against her cheek. He kissed her throat then moved his lips down her chest. Her body arched upward as he suckled first one swollen nipple then the other. Frissons of heat sizzled through her. Moisture gathered between her thighs. He continued his leisurely assault on her untried body, kissing, stroking, and sucking until she moaned in wanton need.

She gasped as his fingers combed through her nether curls and found her center. Sensation uncoiled inside her. Each caress promised something beyond her knowledge.

Deliberately he tormented her, bringing her to the edge of understanding then slowing until she nearly cried in frustration. Her hips bucked wildly against his hand as she sought the mysterious goal he withheld. He slid a finger inside her. Her body clenched around it and she caught her breath in anticipation, but before she could reach that final destination he pulled his hand away.

So close to satisfaction, she whimpered in distress.

"Look at me."

At his command, she opened open her eyes to meet his gaze. Tears spiked her lashes and blurred her vision. She trembled with unfulfilled passion.

He positioned himself between her thighs. Hot and hard, the blunt tip of him pressed into her. She clutched his shoulders as he plunged deep.

Unable to read more, Brandon slammed the book shut and tossed it aside. He turned off the light and flopped down on the bed. Damn it, he refused to be jealous of a fictional character. Donoval was as much a creation as Serilda!

Sleep was a long time in coming, but when it did, dreams of the woman in the other room left Brandon both weak with fulfillment and aching with frustration.

*** *** ***

After I refused to deny who I am, the wizard fell silent and led me to a bedchamber. Fearful of pushing him farther, I too remained quiet. If he decided to write me out of existence now I couldn't stop him. Perhaps I should have killed him when I had the chance. But if I did, what would happen to the people who lived in the world he'd created? What would happen to me?

By flicking a small toggle switch set in the wall, he lit the room with a yellowish glow from a bedside lamp. It was like magic, how this world created light with no fire. Again, the wizard seemed to think it was nothing.

He left, and I wandered around the comfortable room. A large bed dominated. A soft beige was the color of the smooth, straight walls, and a shaggy brown rug hid parts of the polished wood floor. The lamp sat on a table next to the bed, along with a square box made of a shiny material decorated with odd glowing lights and strange buttons. I touched one and jumped as a voice emanated forth. Before I could make out the meaning of the words, I hastened to punch the button again and the noise stopped.

Had my wizard created this contraption? And what creature had angered him enough that he'd imprisoned it inside this box? Also, if capable of such magic, why did he grant me such leeway? I shuddered and looked away.

A shelf full of books caught my attention, though they were of a different construction than I remembered. I hadn't seen a book since Roark burned the library at the monastery. Reading was a pleasure I'd long missed.

As I started to reach for one, I noticed some of the titles: The Barbarian King: Donoval's Revenge, and Warrior Woman: Serilda's Quest. I snatched back my hand. Part of me wanted to read what was written in those tomes, another part sensed something terrible would happen if I did.

Prudence oft-times serves better than boldness,
Brother Eldrin's voice echoed in my memory.

Clutching my trembling hands together, I sat on the edge of the bed and eyed the lamp again warily. Was one of those beings my wizard had spoken of, ComEd or Nicor, responsible for its glow? How much control did he hold over those creatures? If I sought to extinguish the light would they object? Questions without answers made my head ache.

Weary to my core, I lay down. Much in this world was beyond my comprehension, but the mattress brought bliss as it cradled my body. I ran my palms over the silky throw covering the bed. Whatever else this wizard might be, he was wealthy and powerful--if inept, I reminded myself. And my fate now rested in his hands.

Long ago, I'd learned to fight the battles I knew I could win, retreat from those I could not and the difference between them. This battle fell into neither category.

What cannot be solved must be endured. In sleep you release your burdens to the universe
. As always, Brother Eldrin's wise words showed me the path; I closed my eyes, cleared my mind and let sleep claim me.

Warm lips trailed down my throat. Passion welled up inside me as those lips moved lower and closed over the hardened tip of one breast. A surge of heat shot to my groin. I opened my eyes and looked at the top of a golden head. Donoval?

No, this man's hair was short, and the strong hands that stroked my belly felt softer than Donnie's.

The wizard?

I put my hands on the man's head to lift it, then froze in anticipation as he moved his hand lower. His fingers slid through the damp curls between my thighs and stroked the sensitive nub there. Rational thought splintered. My eyelids fell shut.

From that small point of contact, heat radiated through my body. Years had passed since I last lay with Donnie, long, lonely, frustrating years without intimate physical contact with another human being.

Good sense demanded I catch my breath, regain my equilibrium and discover who invaded my bed. Instead, as he used his hands and mouth to drag me deeper into a sexual haze, I surrendered without protest. Like a person dying of thirst I drank in the sweet, warm flood of sensations his touch engendered. Questions faded from my consciousness as he wrung gasps of pleasure from my lips. Hungry for the satisfaction he promised, I didn't care who he was.