Warlord (18 page)
Instead, she continued to open herself to him, crying out his name, alternating curses with cries of pleasure. He released her wrists and wrapped his arms under her shoulders, pulling her into him, forcing himself even deeper as he tried to drive right through her, every muscle tensed with concentration, sweat flying from his body, coating both of them in the sweetest oils of passion.
Sara gyrated against him as he rose up on his hands, his dark, gleaming body flexing over hers, her body bouncing roughly under each stroke, heat driving them both, a scorching burning flame consuming them, setting them ablaze in their frenzied, raging ardor.
Sara’s voice was lost now, as was her mind, she was totally, completely Arystan’s, wanting more, hoarsely calling to him, her declarations of passion only serving to drive him wilder. She swirled her hips, winding her pelvis against his and he growled, changing directions midstroke, wanting to feel, scour and touch every part of her. He plunged into her again and again and felt her nails raking over his back, the slight pain adding to his pleasure. He could feel the sweet pressure building again, but wanted to bring her with him. He ravished her, brutalizing her, as Sara took him and loved every stroke, every hurt, every thrust and then he hit a spot with his cock that made her sing like a siren around him and he focused his thrusts there, driving into her harder, hitting the spot again and again, as he felt her sleeve begin to clutch inward on him.
Sara closed her eyes, feeling herself drawing up onto a plateau, a plateau of pleasure from which the only release was ecstasy, Arystan pouring it on, laying it to her like a battering ram, and he was feeling himself rising further and further and then Sara exploded beneath him and the suction and pull on his cock was too much and he went over with her, falling, tumbling together into an abyss of bliss, a turbulent release of gratification as Arystan felt his balls empty powerfully, squeezing his white, hot creamy release into Sara as her own fluids gushed around him, mixing with his. Arystan stroked strongly, but gently into the squishy softness, feeling his cock deflating, but still pressing himself fully into Sara as the final reverberations of his powerful climax washed over him.
They both lay spent, their breaths slowing in tandem, each thinking thoughts of affection for the other. Arystan felt Sara’s heart racing against his chest and swore he had never felt anything more beautiful. Finally, he rolled to his side, withdrawing, hearing her sigh, and then drawing her into him as he wrapped his arms securely around her.
He kissed the top of her head. “Sleep now,” he said tenderly. “Yesterday is behind us.
Forever.”
Sara sighed against him, comforted by his words. “Thank you, Arystan,” she murmured as she drifted off. “Forever . . . behind us.”
The mist curled and uncurled aimlessly in its dimensionless space.
It had had enough of being a mist – an ‘it,’ no matter what
it
was, even if
it
was powerful, and controlling and immortal and all that. Whatever. It was nothing like being a warlord. Nothing like hearing the sounds of battle echoing in your ears, men shouting, fighting, screaming, dying, the feel of the cold handle of a blade, its balanced heft, or the warm shaft of a pike, the smell of blood, metal, fear, defeat and victory in the air, the feel of killing a man, of draining his lifeblood, swinging the axe into his body with a satisfying
whump
. The mist twisted, violently. Yes, being a mist paled in comparison to being a warlord.
After the last meeting of the others, it decided it had better keep its thoughts and actions to itself. So they didn’t like ‘meddling’ as they called it. Well, what did they think they were doing? Meddling in the affairs he had painstakingly set in motion.
It swirled, the mist darkening a bit. Did it just call itself a ‘he’? The transformation must be close. Very close. It was a bit displeased, however. Nothing had really happened with the mortal. Things were set up well, but the mortal wasn’t moving fast enough.
Mortals were supposed to accept being trained. That was the purpose of those annoying two-hundred year challenges. Oh, it supposed the challenges themselves were entertaining, but thank the mists, now that it finally had a mortal under its power, eternity would be damned before it would give that power up. As far as it was concerned, the mortal’s “training” had already occurred. She only had one simple undertaking to accomplish. Considering what the mortal went through to become worthy of its training, the task was the play of a child.
The mist was impatient. It had manipulated the mortal, influenced, commanded her, obscured her memories, but she had not yet succeeded at the charge to which it had put her. It was time to do more, regardless of the warnings of the other mists. They were pathetic and weak. It would not be leaving such an important matter to chance. The mist would control Sara directly and force the matter.
* * * * *
“What, what is it?” asked Sara sleepily, pulling the white snow leopard furs from over her head where Arystan had tossed them.
He sat up alert, not answering. Then he leapt out of bed and threw on a leather skirt, buckling his sword over it. He pulled a wolfskin fur over his shoulders, not bothering with chest armor and thrust his feet into leather boots.
“What, Arystan?” asked Sara, sitting straight up now, alarmed. She drew the furs around her a bit. It was getting colder during the nights.
“I’ll be back,” Arystan said shortly, leaving the yurt without kissing her.
* * * * *
He sat down next to her on the bench and drew her into his arms. “Shhh,” he said, kissing her temple.
She leaned into him. “What happened?” She had heard the sounds of a skirmish a distance away and later agonizing screams coming from within the encampment.
He stroked her hair, enjoying the feel of her life and warmth against him. “A contingent from General Bayuan’s army found our camp tonight.”
She twisted in his arms to look up at him, her eyes worried. They washed over him, making sure he was unharmed. “Are you all right? Will they tell him? Will he know where to find us?”
He looked down at her, resisting the urge to kiss her. “Yes. No. And yes.”
Her brow furrowed. “Arystan –”
“All right, all right,” he said placatingly. He turned her to face him on the bench, caressing the back of one of her hands. “Yes, I am unharmed. No, they won’t tell him.
None of the soldiers will be telling anyone . . . anything,” he said meaningfully. “And yes, General Bayuan will know where to find our camp. When his contingent doesn’t return, he will know why. And he will know where they searched for us.”
Sara looked thoughtful. “We’ll have to move the camp.”
“Yes. The plans are already in motion. Before they departed this earthly world, the soldiers were generous enough to divulge where Bayuan’s army is encamped. They are a week’s ride from here. We will break camp in three days’ time.” He captured her hand, a gleam in his eyes. “Sara, they are camped very close to the River of Blood.”
She let out a little gasp, her eyes fluttering. Arystan was reminded of how Sara reacted when he hit her cervix very deeply.
“Oh. Do you think it’s possible to convince them to camp at the clearing, Arystan?”
He looked down at her. Her eyes were literally glowing with excitement. Her skin was flushed a pretty pink and she was breathing just a little faster. Gods, what a woman. He smiled. “Not only do I think it’s possible, Sara, I think it’s almost certain. And here’s how,” he said, explaining his thoughts to his spellbound lover.
* * * * *
This was to be a march for the sole purpose of engaging their enemy. There would be a camp at their final destination, but not a long-term, comfortable camp such as this. The remaining livestock were to be slaughtered and eaten in the last few days. Sara would be the only woman traveling with Arystan’s army. Not a single word was grumbled against it. She was good for the leader. Every man could see that.
On the last night before they broke camp, Sara felt nervous and headed out for air, feeling drawn to the patch of juniper woods where she had so often run. Her breath left trails of fine white mist in the night, the crispness filling her lungs, the shock of the chill as it met the warmth of her organs invigorating.
She heard a twig snap behind her and then powerful arms wrapped around her, a familiar dark mouth nibbling on her ear. “Don’t worry, Sara. Everything will be fine,” Arystan said, holding her strongly.
She turned in his arms, finding her way under his heavy fur cloak, running her hands up the back of his thick leather vest. She gave him a half-smile. “I know.” But her eyes were troubled.
“Really, you worry too much woman. At least I know how to make you stop worrying,”
he growled, his black eyes hot. He bent his head to her neck and took the skin in his mouth, sucking gently and then biting into the flesh with his teeth. Sara moaned, thrusting herself against him.
Arystan released her throat. “Yes, I see it’s quite easy for you to become . . . distracted,”
he said, gently taking her lips in his, teasing, nuzzling them, tracing the entrance to her mouth with his tongue.
She panted. “Arystan. More,” she said weakly.
“More?” he said, taking her lower lip into his mouth and sucking hard and then biting it.
Sara cried out in his mouth.
“Or more like this?” he asked, thrusting his tongue forcefully into hers and running it in a circular motion over the top of her palate, her cheeks, under her own tongue and then back again.
“Or more like this?” he hissed as he wrapped his hands in her hair and brought her roughly back against a tree, grinding his erection into her, pulling up on her skirt as he humped against her, simulating the sex act, his breathing harsh, his mouth hovering above hers, their bodies surrounded now by the white mist from their breath.
“Oh, gods, here? Now? Arystan – the camp –”
He continued moving against her, bringing his hand up under her skirt and pressing two fingers into her wetness. Her head fell back as she emitted soft cries like a kitten, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.
The spirits knew, she felt so warm, hot, tight. He had to have her now. He worked himself free from his leggings. “Yes, right here, right now, just like this. Of course,” he said, positioning his cock at her entrance, “you’ll have to control your ‘volume.’ There are no other women in camp right now and a vocal projection of our encounter would likely be poorly received.”
She held onto his furs, one leg bent at his waist, her mouth falling open as he entered her with a single, powerful stroke. He checked her hard, pushing her back up against the tree and held her there, like a fly pinned to the wall. Then he withdrew and plunged deeply again, watching her gasp, enjoying the fact he could drive all other thoughts from her head when he possessed her like this.
Arystan began to fuck her in earnest, one arm braced against the tree, the other wrapped in her hair, whispering her name, grunting and straining with his passion as he relentlessly pounded through her wetness, the heat of their coupling driving back the chill of the night. Sara was lost to him, to his possession, all worries and thoughts driven from her mind as she felt only him, his enormous cock pistoning into her, wrenching her body, his longing and desire for her washing over her in waves of stickiness, burning, melting, turning her to liquid need, liquid fire racing through her, as everything receded but Arystan and his turbulent, impassioned handling of her.
Her head fell forward to Arystan’s chest as he continued to drive into her, her body bouncing and jerking under his pummeling thrusts, listening to the surge and gush of fluids as he stroked in and out of her, his head locking over the top of hers. She tried not to cry out, but could not help whimpering as she clung desperately to him, her fingers wrapped in his furs as if holding on for dear life as he continued to pummel her against the tree.
She twisted her head back and looked into his eyes. They were blacker than the night, burning through her soul as she said his name over and over, and then she bit her lip as she felt the familiar sensation of sweet pressure building within her. Their faces were moist from perspiration, their hair soggy from the clammy autumn night. Arystan’s black hair swung damply around his face, Sara’s hair curled and stuck to her cheeks; she felt as if she were covered in steam, the cold night growing both humid and hotter.
Arystan felt Sara’s velvet sleeve begin to clench, felt her tighten and knew she was close.
He sped up his stroke, eliciting more gasps and small cries from her, bringing forward his own release so that he would take flight with her. They were both lost to everything but each other now as their sensations built together, separately, but simultaneously, as the world started to spin and they each took deep, desperate breaths before they were cast outward and upward, clinging to each other as if they would be lost to the blowing, blinding storm without the other as a ballast. They floated for a moment together, hovering, suspended in that beautiful moment of elongated time before they drifted separately down to return to the earthly feelings of their bodies.