Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (13 page)

“So you were Cair Ghrian’s whore, eh?” the commander inquired.

“For the last four years,” Amethyst said as she massaged her breasts.

“Then he cast you aside.”

“His loss is your gain, Commander Avatás,” she replied.

B’reith Avatás steepled his fingers and studied the woman posturing before him. It had been a long campaign and he had been without female companionship for close to six months. His appetite was whetted by the buxom beauty he had discovered on the Francach ship, but it was her relationship with The Black Sun that interested him the most.

Despite the shiny scales that covered the Saurian commander’s hairless face, he was not an unattractive man although his elliptical eyes bore the unmistakable stamp of brutal cruelty in their depths. Long, powerful fingers ended in sharp claws that curled under at the tip. As with many other reptilian races, his tongue was broad, flat and fleshy. The inside of his mouth was pebbled with warts that scraped against white rows of sharp teeth, causing some of his words to come out with a hissing sound. One long gray braid of interlocking scales fell from the top of his head to swing down over the armored plate of his uniform tunic. He was powerfully built with a wide chest, brawny arms and heavily muscled legs.

“Do you have feelings for the future king of Amhantar?”

Amethyst rolled her nipples between her thumbs and middle fingers. “If I could carve the heart from his chest with one of his beloved scythe daggers, it would give me the greatest of pleasures.” She sidled closer. “But you must know he isn’t in line to be king. His brother Bennick—”

“Abdicated in favor of his brother and is now safely ensconced in a monastery from whence he shall never leave.”

Surprise lifted Amethyst’s expertly plucked brows and she knelt at the commander’s feet. “Do you want me to help you see that he never attains that throne, milord?”

“On the contrary, Beautiful One. My Emperor wants the Scythelord to take the Amhantarean throne.” He grinned nastily. “How else will we gain control of that strategic world?”

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“Ah, but first you need control of Cair Ghrian,” Amethyst whispered, running her palm up the commander’s thigh.

“Indeed we do,” Avatás agreed. “So it will be up to you to tell me how best to go about accomplishing that feat.”

She slid the palm of her hand beneath his crotch and cupped him, gently squeezing the dual erections that made Saurian men so unique in the megaverse. The hardness that began to form at her touch put a sultry smile on her ripe mouth.

“Is he to remain as the captain of the
Foehn
?” she asked.

“Our sources tell us his personal ship has been sent to bring him back to Amhantar. It is already on its way there.”

“So his wicked witch of a mother wants her pretty boy home.”

“Accompanied by the woman the queen has chosen to be The Black Sun’s mate.”

Amethyst blinked. “His mate?” she echoed, her hand stilling on the enormous erections that strained at the commander’s uniform trousers. Avatás had a spy on board the
Foehn
so he was privy to the goings-on aboard the pleasure ship. Always diligent in keeping close tabs on his enemies and closer ones on his friends, he left nothing to chance. Not only did he know about Davan Shanahan, he knew about the animosity between her and the woman kneeling before him.

“The Breasalean healer is to be Joined to him upon the summer solstice.”

“I knew it!” Amethyst cried out. “I knew there was more to that slut than just her taking Rabishu’s place!” She flung out a few extremely vulgar Iodálach curse words.

“She didn’t fool me for a minute!”

“Actually,” Avatás said as he pushed her hand away then began unzipping his fly.

“The healer knew nothing of the queen’s plans. She is not happy about the situation—or so she says.”

“She’s lying! Who wouldn’t be thrilled to become the mate of Cair Ghrian?”

Amethyst scoffed.

“You wanted that for yourself.”

“Aye, but I wasn’t good enough for the mighty Deathwielder,” Amethyst scoffed. Freeing his huge staffs and smiling brutally at the gasp of shock that caused the woman between his legs to stiffen, he reached out to take her cheeks between his palms as she started to draw back, cringing away from him.

“I am told there is a growing attraction between Ghrian and the healer, which neither of them has as yet acknowledged. I have seen images of the one called Davan and find her quite lovely. I am sure the Scythelord does, as well.”

Amethyst swallowed as she stared down at the enormous cocks covered in thick, shiny gray scales. Thrusting out from the Saurian’s hairless privates, the two rods were positioned one atop the other with the lower one longer in length and tipped with a barbed flange.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Avatás increased the pressure on the woman’s cheeks, forcing her lips to pucker until she resembled a fish. “Do you—as a woman who knows the man intimately—

think he would come after her if she were taken away from him?”

“I, ah, believe he might,” she had difficulty answering as perspiration began to form on her upper lip.

“He might or he will?” the commander wanted clarified, easing up on the pressure he was exerting on her cheeks.

“If she was his wife?”

Avatás nodded slowly, his elliptical gaze narrowed.

“Honor would require him to go after her whether he has feelings for her or not,”

she answered. She whimpered as the commander pushed her head toward his crotch.

“That is what I needed to hear,” Avatás said as the woman’s lips closed over his primary root and began suckling.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his reptilian eyes as the whore worked her magic on his flesh. The auxiliary root swished back and forth beneath the woman’s chin, lightly scratching at her throat, the barb drawing tiny lines of blood across the creamy expanse.

* * * * *

Sickened by what she had done and bleeding not only from her anus but her vagina, Amethyst eased herself down on the thin cot that had been allotted to her. The inside of her belly hurt so badly she could barely draw breath and she cupped her abdomen in one hand as she used the other to steady her descent to the mattress. Pain rocketed through her as her rump touched the cot and she groaned, rolling over to her hip. She could not stretch out her legs but rather kept them close to her body to help alleviate the agony that pulsed within her lower body.

A threadbare blanket had been tossed to her as she crept toward the bunk but it had slid to the cold, bare floor well beyond her reach. She eyed it and shivered, wishing she had the strength to retrieve it and cover her nakedness.

Never in all the years she had plied her trade as one of the most sought-after whores on either pleasure ship, had she ever been mistreated as inhumanely as she had that day. Not once had a man lifted a hand to beat her nor had one taken her with the savagery of the Saurian. Thrusting into her with brutal strength, his massive organs ripping and cutting into her tender flesh, his cum had burned her insides so badly she had screamed until she was hoarse.

“In two hours you will bear me at least three litters for this night’s work, whore,”

Avatás had proclaimed, his chest thrusting out.

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Damning Cair Ghrian to the far reaches of the vilest of miasmas, Amethyst lay whimpering, feeling the nestlings already beginning to form within her womb. Her last thought as the pain became too great for her to bear was of the agony she hoped the Aduaidh Empire would visit upon the Scythelord and his ill-begotten mate. 75

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Ten

When Cair woke, he found himself in his quarters aboard the
Miodóg
. A light sheet covered his body but a heavy blanket of drug fog enclosed his mind. The tenerse had taken full hold of him and he was drifting, as calm and peaceful as he could ever remember being in his twenty-nine years. He twisted beneath the clean, cool sheets, glorying in the way the cotton fabric felt against his legs and chest. The sheets smelled of ozone and it was a scent he found comforting and reassuring. He didn’t remember how he had come to be aboard the
Miodóg
. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the hot zone, swilling down the fiery brandy that was his poison of choice. Why he had felt the need to tie one on, he couldn’t remember, either, but he knew he must have had a damned good reason.

Too hot, he kicked aside the sheet and felt some relief.

A lovely face floated into view above him and he smiled, so serene he hated to break the quiet with speech. Instead, he reached out for the cooling hand that touched him gently upon his brow and brought it to his lips, kissing the soft flesh of a smooth palm before pressing it firmly to his chest. He felt the bed dip beneath a slight weight and turned his head to gaze at the woman sitting beside him.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked and tried to slip her hand from his grasp. Cair held onto her hand, refusing to relinquish it. He had no idea who the beautiful woman was but just looking at her made his arms ache to hold her. “I could,” he said in a soft, low voice, “drink from your lips and never be thirsty again, wench.”

Sighing at the use of the annoying word, Davan realized his use of it was not likely to stop and the way he had said it this time sounded almost sensual.

“I think water would quench your thirst more efficiently, milord,” she said and slid her hand from beneath his.

Cair knew a moment of abject loneliness when he was no longer in contact with the beauty perched beside him. He would have reached out for her but she stood, bent over him, placed one cool hand under his head and when she lifted his head, placed the rim of a goblet to his lips.

He had not known just how thirsty he was until the first drop of moisture slipped into his mouth. Greedily he drank until she pulled the glass away, warning him too much might likely make his belly hurt.

“My heart hurts, wench,” he protested as she laid his head back upon the pillow.

“I know,” she said softly.

“Why does my heart hurt?”

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Davan knew the tenerse was a powerful narcotic that could temporarily erase memory. She suspected such was the case with Cair and with the tenerse combined with an overabundance of liquor, he was bound to be more than a bit confused.

“We are on your ship,” she told him. “Bound for Amhantar.”

“I’m going home?” he asked, his smile so glorious it brought tears to her eyes.

“Aye, milord. You are going home.”

His smile wavered. “Oh, now I remember,” he said. “We are going for the Joining.”

Before Davan could agree, he asked her if it was for Bennick’s or Liam’s.

“I can’t remember,” he said.

Sympathy turned her pale green eyes dark. “It’s your Joining, milord,” she said softly.

“Mine?”

Davan shrugged. “Yours and mine.” She lowered her eyes. “Ours.”

“Ours?” he questioned.

She looked up at him. “Aye.”

“But Liam…”

“He’s gone, milord. Try to remember.”

Cair stared at her for a moment then full memory seemed to wash over his face and as it did, terrible sorrow settled in its place.

Davan took his hand. “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

Her grasp upon his hand felt natural and he was surprised to find he was drawing strength from her touch. It felt right to have her there beside him. It was as comforting—if not more so—than the drug, which had invaded his system.

“Do you believe in fate, wench?” he asked.

“I’ve never considered it.”

“I never have either but my mother puts great store in such notions.”

“Well, I have heard it said that determined people make their own fate,” Davan said. “I think that is what your mother has done in our case.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

They were silent for a long while. He had turned his face away from her and she was looking at the twin scythe daggers on the wall, their wickedly curved blades crossed. When she looked back at him, she saw tears falling slowly down his cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, stroking the back of his hand with her free one.

“No,” he choked out.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He turned his face toward her. “No, wench. I never want you to leave.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

There had been the slightest bit of desperation in that statement but it was the sincerity in his gaze as it held hers that touched the very core of her being. In his eyes was vast sorrow but there was also a great need that suggested only she could fill. Something vital had changed between them in a space of a few moments and Davan realized there would be no turning back. How it happened, she would never know. Perhaps fate had decided for her.

For both of them.

“Lie with me?” he asked and it was not a demand for a sexual encounter but a desire to not be alone in his grief.

Davan let go of his hand long enough to kick off her shoes and swing her legs onto the bed. She stretched out beside him. He turned toward her, pressing softly against her, and she pillowed his head upon her breast, one arm around his shoulders. She could feel his tears through the fabric of her uniform shirt and they seemed to seep into her very soul. If she had felt protective of this man before that moment, she had become now an armor-plated shield, an aegis, to keep harm at bay.

“It will be all right,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “We will make it all right, Davan.”

“Aye, milord,” she agreed and released the last tiny hold of restraint she had upon her heart.

He fell asleep with his head on her chest. He slept soundly though now and again he would groan and she would soothe him with soft words. When at last weariness claimed her, she laid her head against his and gave in to the fatigue.

* * * * *

Davan woke to find she was looking into golden eyes that were soft with sleep but which held a trace of overpowering grief still lingering in the depths.