BloodLust (Rise of the Iliri Book 1) (21 page)

The Chancellor put his hands on her slender waist and pulled her closer.  He smelled sweet and metallic.  Her instincts screamed that he was her prey.  With one hand wrapped in the hair at the back of her neck, he tilted her head back gently and kissed her throat.  The air she'd been holding slid out, a soft sigh escaping her lips.  The man grazed his teeth against vulnerable skin, biting softly, and she reached up to grasp his forearms.  Remembering her dull human teeth, she fought the urge to bite back.  When his lips met hers, she returned the kiss.

The Chancellor fumbled with the hooks at her back.  His breath came quick against her cheek while he unlatched each one, his erection pushing into her abdomen.  Sal leaned into him, encouraging it, and glanced again at the window.  Below, the city lights were starting to glow. 

Feeling the last hook release, she ran her hands up to his chest against his expensive shirt.  Slowly, he guided the gown from her shoulders.  Only her closed arms prevented it from falling to the floor.  Then he reached up and grasped her delicate wrists in his strong hands, kissing her neck, working down her collar bones to the tops of her breasts.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, trying to make it sound like the truth.

Without warning, he shoved her away.  "So you are a slut."

Sal staggered a step back, eyes wide, and looked at him with honest confusion on her face.  He closed the distance between them, but his demeanor had changed.  No longer the timid lover, he looked at her with savage eyes. 

A quick backhand caught her across the temple, and Sal swayed on her feet, fighting to keep her mind clear.  When he reached for her again, she cowered, reminding herself not to dodge the blows, anticipating the pain that would come.  A strike to her cheek followed.

Reeling on her feet, his hands pulled the now loose gown to her waist.  Instinctively she covered her breasts with her arms, looking through her golden curls at the madman before her.  His black eyes focused on her face as he said, "Now you will respect me, whore.  Come here."

She nodded, once more trying to push tears to her eyes, and realized he wanted her to fear him.  She intentionally took a trembling step forward, until her crossed arms brushed his velvet shirt.

"Undress."

She complied, pushing the satin and brocade to her feet, then stepped out of the slippers.  When she stood back up, she refused to look at his face, making note of the distances across the room and the location of the bed.  The bruises were rising on her face, the blood at her temple throbbed.  The Chancellor stood quietly for a moment, gazing at her, then reached up and pulled her arms down to her sides. 

Sal did not resist. 

He slowly ran his hands along her soft flesh, first her hips, then her ribs, but he avoided her breasts.  She could feel her nipples rising in response to the evening chill and let the pathetic man think he caused it.  When his hands made their way up her throat one more time, she braced for the worst, surprised when he only kissed her.  Then his teeth bit into her lower lip.  She had to fight the urge to snarl.

With one hand clasped on each side of her face, he devoured her mouth, his fingers digging into her flesh.  Frantically, she pulled at his grip on her jaw.  The harder she fought, the more excited he became, until he shoved her hard toward the bed.  She staggered, dropping to her knees, and looked back at him with fear forced onto her face.

Come on, you bastard,
she thought.
Come get me.

As if reading her mind, he stalked her.  Sal pulled her knees up, a squeal forced past her lips.  The Chancellor grabbed her and threw her onto the bed face first, twisting one arm behind her, pinning her there.  When he started ripping at his breeches with his free hand, she reminded herself to squirm, listening for the cloth to come free.  She struggled, her bare rump brushing across him intentionally, feeling exposed flesh as she tried to pull against his grip just enough to keep him distracted.  Over her shoulder, she saw the human reach for something.  A singing noise warned Sal just before the curved blade arced toward her face.

Cold metal burned as it sliced across her cheek and lips.  The blood welled quickly, the taste of it flooding her mouth.  Was it the metal that made it so sweet?  It tasted like humans smelled.  Across her body, her skin tingled in response to the shock.

The Chancellor rested the blade against her neck and pushed his chest over her back so his lips were close to her ear.  "Have you ever seen metal before, slut?"

She shook her head, careful to avoid cutting herself. 

"The Emperor gives it to us.  It cuts like nothing else.  If you scream, I'll slit your pretty little throat, do you understand?"

Sal nodded, her mind working furiously.  The Emperor had access to metal, enough that he was giving it away to secure the loyalty of his men.  Metal could change the war and was probably how he'd been conquering nations so easily.  She felt the man grind into her bare flesh, his erection throbbing against her buttocks, and decided she'd had enough of this game.  Glancing up, she saw his gaze focused on her ass, trusting the weapon to keep her tame.  The fool.

Without warning, she twisted under him, rolling her body toward her pinned arm.  The Chancellor, caught off guard, lost his grip on the dagger, and Sal watched it fall into the folds of the covers while he tried to grab at her shoulders.  Her back braced against the bed, her legs between his, she looked him in the eyes and smiled.

Her knee met his crotch. 

Moving with iliran speed, she grabbed his shoulders and twisted, forcing him under her, onto the bed.  She pinned each of his arms beneath her knees, her muscled thighs strong enough to hold him easily, and leaned back, reaching for the blade near her feet.  Her instincts begged to take control.  She let them.  This man needed to pay for all he'd done.  She couldn't be the first woman he'd paid to torture.

As her hand closed on the sharp metal blade, he bucked, trying to throw her off.  Sal balanced across his shoulders easily after so many hours learning to ride, but the sudden movement caused the blade to bite into her fingers.  A sharp pain surged over her hand, then her own blood, sticky against the metal.  Shifting her grip on the weapon, she pressed it against his throat.

"Do you like it rough?" she purred, glaring at his black eyes.  The point of the blade traced a line down his chest.

Her pupils had dilated, making his movement even more obvious.  His pulse hammered against his throat and his eyes widened slightly in fear.  The scent of it encouraged her.  She wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into his flesh.  He was her prey – and didn't realize he'd lost.

Confused at the sudden change, the Chancellor made no attempt to call out.  He tried to decide if she was playing games with him or if she was truly a threat.  When he opened his mouth to speak, she moved the blade back to his neck and shook her head, holding a bloody finger to her lips as she glanced once more at the window.  The night sky called to her, the stars easily visible.  Smiling down at him cruelly, she placed her hand over his mouth and pulled the blade across his throat.

Chapter 26

His skin was so tender.  The flesh parted easily beneath the blade.  His lips were moist against her hand and she'd sliced deeply, like Cyno taught her.  Sal counted two breaths before the blood began to leak from the cut, the smell so sweet.  Bubbles formed in it before it ran down his neck, across his chest, and under her thighs.  When the Chancellor realized his life was leaving him, he began to struggle, only making the blood flow faster.  Sal held him, savoring the scent of her kill.  His chest pushed against her naked body, his heart pounded beneath her, and she couldn't pull her eyes from his.  With her hand smothering his moans, she found herself breathing faster, excited, and her lips pulled away from her teeth in a pleased snarl. 

The light faded from his eyes, but she held him until she could no longer feel his heartbeat.

Sucking in a deep breath, the unexpected rush startled her.  She had to fight the desire to taste his blood.  The man beneath her was still warm, but dead, and he smelled so sweet.  Releasing his slack mouth, she sat up, looked out the window, and listened to the building around her.  Hearing nothing, she rolled off the corpse. 

Thick blood covered her, dripping to her feet.  Sal pulled at the corner of the bed, wiping as much from herself as she could.  There were no vessels for water in the room so she spit on her hands, inspecting the wound on her right, then rubbed them in the bedding again, ignoring the pain. 

She was not clean, but she could walk down a dark hall way without calling too much attention to herself.  Sal pulled on the expensive dress and shoved her feet into the shoes.  She tried to fasten the hooks behind her, but they were too small to close by feel alone.  Instead, she settled her long blonde hair over her back.  Walking to the window, her reflection served as a mirror.  It would have to do.

One more time across the room, past the dead man, and the metal blade caught her eye.  She wiped it on the sheets before shoving it into her gown, between the layers of the bodice.  A few smaller metal objects went beside it, as proof of the Emperor's gifts.  Satisfied that she'd accomplished her mission, Sal walked softly to the door and waited, listening to the sounds in the hall before opening it carefully.

Only darkness lay beyond.  She slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her.  Her iliran eyes turned the night into shades of grey, and she turned to the right.  A few steps further on, she saw the plain door and stepped through it without hesitation.  Hampers lined the walls, overflowing with dirty clothes.  Sal picked through the piles, finding a pair of trousers close enough to her size and a servant's dress to go over it.  She rolled the legs of the pants high enough so they couldn't be seen underneath her skirt, then shoved the metal trinkets in the pockets, only keeping the blade out. 

Mentally, she traced her route through the expansive building.  Servants' halls were common, and Sal tried to remember irregularities in the floor plan that would conceal them.  One possibility leapt to mind.  

A handful of clothing in her arms, she carried herself like she had a purpose, the knife tucked inside her bundle.  Past the bathing chamber – she moved quickly when women's voices came from inside – she ducked into an alcove as a guardsman climbed the stairs.  With every sense alert, she waited for him to pass, then walked back into the main hall and continued down the corridor, stepping through a plain door that seemed to lead to nothing.

Her guess was right.  She stood in an unused servant's passage.  Jogging down the stairs, her heart pounding, she listened at each door.  When the stairs ended, her mental compass told her she was on the ground floor.  Only silence waited on the other side, so she opened it, surprised to find herself in the courtyard beside the stables. 

The Lieutenant's warning rang in her mind, so Sal looked around for a stablehand.  Nothing.  She slid along the wall quietly.  Lights burned brightly inside, but she couldn't hear the sounds of people.  Lifting her chin, she walked in.

Horses stood tied along the left wall, quietly munching hay in their mangers.  The first, a boldly marked dun, would have been easy enough to grab, but Sal remembered the look on Blaec's face when he recited his vision.  Down the line was a chestnut, then a leggy bay with a loose fitting halter.  Across from him, a rack of bridles hung along the wall.  Sal judged the size of the gelding's head and chose one that would be a close fit.  Her plan made, she walked toward the bay, grabbed the bridle as she passed, dropped her rags on the floor, and slipped it over the halter.  When she bent to retrieve the knife, she heard a gasp of surprise.  One swing cut through the rope, freeing the horse, and she swung onto his back.  Her weight settled on the gelding as the guards cried out from the building. 

Sal shoved her calves against the lean horse, sparing nothing more than a glance at the stablehand as she spun the gelding in his stall and urged him toward the exit. 

"Hey!" the boy cried, finding his voice.  "Stop!"

The bay raced through the courtyard, toward the gates.  They'd be closing soon, with all the yelling from the Chancery, and she begged the horse to run faster.  He complied gladly, stretching his long legs.  The ground flew past, buildings becoming a blur.  They charged through the gates just as the portcullis gears begin to move.  That was just the first hurdle.

Outside, she pulled the gelding to a calm canter, hoping to keep him from exhausting himself too soon.  Through the city streets, their path was to the west and north.  When she passed the last building, she looked for the tall hill capped with twin trees. 

Her ears strained for signs of chase as Sal pushed the bay into the hills, keeping to the trees and shadows.  Hopefully, the uneven ground would hide her from pursuit.  At a trot, they crested a hill but lights glinted behind her, torches flickering through the trees, gaining on her quickly.

She squeezed the gelding, feeling the burn in her thighs as she struggled to grip his sleek hide.  The willing horse pushed forward, covering ground.  Leaning low on his neck, she gave him his head and checked over her shoulder.  Watching behind her, she almost missed the line of guards cresting the hill to her left; only a twitch of her horse's head alerted her in time.  Yanking hard to the right, she wrapped her fingers in his mane.  The gelding bounded down the steep terrain.  A few brave men followed.  One horse lost its footing and tumbled onto its rider. 

They were too close!  She pushed the bay hard, his legs racing under him, covering ground, but sweat slicked his hair.  They ran until the Chancery was lost in the darkness, not even the glow of the town around it visible.  She knew she was pushing her mount beyond his limits, but she had no other choice.  Slowly, pace by pace, the guards were catching up while her horse began to falter.

Zep!
she cried out in her mind,
I'm not going to make it! 
She hoped he could hear her across the distance and made for the hilltop that her eyes could barely see. 

Thundering hooves, loud in her ears, came close.  Sal looked over her shoulder, finding a guard reaching for her, hoping to catch her trailing hair or clothing.  She flailed at him with the blade still in her hand, and he yanked his arm back.  She forced the poor gelding on.  Unable to kick and keep her grip, she slapped him with the flat of the blade, driving him for more speed.  The exhausted horse tried but simply could not pull away.  They were catching her.  The enemy was too close! 

Looking toward the hill, still so far away, she called out again in her mind. 
Zep!

We're coming, Sal.  Straight up the middle, baby, we're coming. 
She could barely hear him, but he shouted the thought hard and it came through.

I'm riding hard.  I don't know if this horse can make it.

Damn it!  Just keep riding, Sal, I'm coming for you.

In the grey darkness, her eyes could make out a lone rider charging at them.  She recognized Cessa by the set of the mare's head, and Sal guided her gelding past, squeezing hard to prevent the tired horse from slowing.  Zep, in full resin armor, little more than a shadow against the dark mare, held his pike low against her shoulder. 

Sal looked back in time to see the weapon pierce the soldier closest to her, lifting him out of the saddle when Cessa slid to a hard stop.  Zep dropped the pike and spun his mare, pulling a resin sword from the sheath at his back.  He tilted the horse's head just enough for her to see the last man, then dropped the reins.  Cessa pinned her ears and dug in, unwilling to let her target out of her sight.

Sal could feel the gelding failing beneath her.  She only needed to make it over one more hill before they'd meet the infantry sent to protect them.  She begged him to canter on with her hips, pushing the horse into each step.  Hearing hoof beats closing on her again, she only saw Zep racing to catch up and relief flooded her.  Cessa pulled abreast of Sal's horse and the gelding seemed to find his second wind.  He stretched his legs enough to make a true gallop, his neck and shoulders lathered, his breathing hard.  Sal looked over at Zep, his dark eyes looking back.  She would be safe now.

Side by side, they passed behind the line of infantry and Sal pulled her weary horse up, slipping from his back before the poor bay could stop.  She pulled his reins over his head and began to walk, slowly, letting the exhausted horse gulp air, her own knees weak.

Thank you, Zep,
she thought. 
Shit, I can't thank you enough.

You don't need to say it, Sal.  I know you'd do the same for me.  Are you ok to keep that horse walking?

I think so.

Ok,
he thought,
let me give these boys orders.  Head back to camp.  I'll be back with you before you get ten meters.

She sent him an acknowledgment and turned her feet toward the campfires in the distance.  Exhaustion clawed at her, the gash in her face and the bruises throbbed painfully.  The smell of blood drifted beneath her clothes and from the weapon she held, making her mind twist in strange ways, but her fingers were too painful to release the blade.  True to his word, she heard Cessa's hooves behind her before she walked out of sight of the infantry.

Give me your hand, Sal.  We can pony the poor horse back and you don't need to be walking.

She looked up to find Zep's arm reaching for her.  Out of habit, she offered her right hand, the blade still clutched tightly in her fist.  He grabbed it, prying her blood encrusted fingers away, and she moaned at the exquisite rush of pain.  He looked at her quickly, his expression shocked.  Tucking the weapon into his belt, he wrapped his hand around her forearm and pulled her into his lap instead of behind him on the saddle while Cessa resumed walking.

"Sal, what happened to you?  You can barely stand," he said softly, holding her against his chest.

"The Chancellor is dead, the Emperor is providing metal weapons – like the one in your belt – to his supporters, I didn't take the dun, and next time, I'll remember to saddle the bay." 

She wrapped her bloody hand in his leathers and pulled herself close to him, inhaling his human sweetness.  She wanted to bite him, to taste the salt of his skin and the sugar of his blood.  The desire made her feel disgusted with herself.  She wasn't a beast; she was a damned soldier who'd just completed her first mission as an elite!

"I need to report, Zep," she whispered.

"That's where I'm taking you, little one," he promised. "LT's worried sick.  You're the last one back."

"I can't be alone with him.  Not yet."

"I'll be with you, and I'll make sure he knows you aren't staying.  Don't worry about it.  Just report to your commander.  Your lover will understand."

"Ok," she agreed numbly, trying to hide her shame.