Claimed: The Warriors of Nur (20 page)

After their 'kitchen encounter,' Erol had moved them to the large tub.  Literally.  She'd been putty, unable to do anything other than lie limply in his arms while he carried her. 

She frowned, the end playing over and over in her head.  He continued to surprise her.

"Erol?"  She played idly with the thick braid that floated in the water. 

"Hmm..?" he sighed internally, a deep satisfaction wrapping him.  The soft curve of her rear, molded to him, his burgeoning erection fitting nicely between the plump cheeks. 

"Why didn't you...?" the water shifted as she turned to face him.  "I mean earlier, why didn't you ah..." her face headed.  Mentally she pinched herself, what the hell was wrong with her? 

"Why didn't I seed you?"  His hand stroked down her arm, to interlace with hers. 

Her nosed wrinkled at his terminology.  "Yeah...that." 

"Is that what you want?"  His eyes slit, the white-grey irises pinning her from beneath droopy lids. 

Her silence echoed, her hesitation answer enough. 

"You will not fear me,
Duša
."  A fact stated.  His lids lowered, his head dipped to rest against the rim again. 

"Fear you?"  She turned, her back again resting.  She withdrew her hand, upbraiding her hair to float freely.  "I don't fear you, Erol.  If you wanted to hurt me, you've had more than enough opportunity."  She scooted forward, her body floating, she dipped her head back until water framed her face. 

Erol cupped her breasts, the buoyant fruit floating to bob on the surface as she arched back.  He shaped her, gently pinching the nipples when they puckered in the cooler air. 

"I would never harm you,
Duša
.  But you do fear me."  He let go, his hands floating to her shoulders as she sat up. 

Water cascaded, her dark locks streaming over her shoulder to cover her.  He leaned forward, his tongue darting out to track the drops from her shoulder and up the column of her neck. 

"You fear growing my seed."  He sucked the lobe of her ear, her shiver of awareness a delight to him.  It'd taken everything in him not to get lost in her.  To pleasure her without taking his own release.  "I want you willing.  Your body open and welcoming." 

Burying a hand in her hair, pulling firmly until she faced him, her body again bowing until the cooling water framed her, he leaned forward, his tongue traveling the path between her breasts to the hollow of her throat--one hand cupping her breast, the other planted firmly to keep her positioned the way he wanted.  His mouth sealed around the dusky bud, her taste clean and sweet, and sucked, his tongue swirling to curl around it. 

Leo arched deeper, his wide palm the only thing keeping her from drowning.  Her legs widened, her thighs floating at his hips, the water a warm caress at her opening.  One hand reached to twine with the one fisted in her hair, the other gripped the beveled rim, an anchor in her floating haze of rapidly building pleasure. 

"Your fear will only taint that." Her breast left his mouth with a pop as he towed her closer until her legs straddled him, her core flush against his thick erection. 

"So what does that mean?"  Her hands came to rest on his shoulders as he continued to stroke her, his hand gently sweeping her back to dip below the surface to the curve of her ass.  She shifted, the head of his cock positioned to stroke her clit with every movement.  She wanted to move, a restlessness building, its origins wherever skin met. 

"It means,
Duša
," he rocked his hips, her core tightening with every stroke, "I won't seed you." He lifted her, her ass gripped firmly in his palms to ride her harder against him. 

She gripped him, her nails digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders, her head thrown back in mounting pleasure.  God, the things he did to her.  Like magic, he knew just how to open her.  When and how to touch her.  Like he knew by her breath, her needy gasping moans when, where and how. 

“Not until I claim you.”  He thrust up, impaling himself, his thickness stretching her, almost painful in his abruptness.  He held her, his tight grip keeping her immobile while her body yielded to accommodate him.  With slow control, he rocked them, his movements allowing a slight inch of him to leave her before sheathing himself fully again.  His head dipped to suck the flushed column of her neck, and her head relaxed back in pleasure.  Her lips opened, her panting moans the only sound audible beyond the gentle lapping of the water as he rocked steadily.  She sucked her full bottom lip between her teeth, biting down as her moans increased in volume.  Releasing his shoulders, she cupped her breasts, squeezing their plump weight until the nipples pebbled hard between her fingers.

Erol growled, his control almost lost at the sight of her.  “Look at me…” he commanded, one hand gripping the back of her neck.  “Know me.”  

He increased the pace, his knees raised to seat himself more firmly.  She rode him, her body helpless to do anything other than that what his hands commanded.  He undulated, angling to hit where she needed it most, the increasingly uncoordinated jerk of her movements signaling the fast approach to her end.  Her eyes drifted closed, the tightening coil in her stomach making her tremble from the inside out.

“No,” he demanded, his need to see her overwhelming, “Know me.”  He slowed--his thrust shallow--denying the deeper penetration that would end her need.

Leo quaked.  Her lids barely slit.  Focus was a thing of the past, her ability to command even her body was gone.  “Erol…” she gasped, his name a plea.  She teetered at the edge of a massive precipice, waiting to just fall. 

“See me.”  One hand left her waist to fist her hair, the other slid, palm flat, to the middle of her back, pulling her flush until their foreheads met.  “See me,
Duša
…”

Leo flinched, the intensity, the raw need there more than she was willing to acknowledge.  His pupils dilated, the black centers completely swallowing the iris.  He hungered, his need for her acceptance blatant. 

“I see you,” she whispered, the sound nearly inaudible.

“Know me.”  He growled, every muscle strained with his desire to move.

“I do…” she grazed his lips, her tongue testing the protruding tips of his fangs.

“Accept me!” he demanded, muscles tensing with every involuntary convulsion of her body.

Eyes closed, she tilted her face away, a brief shake her only answer.

He hissed, pain and frustration evident in one sound, and in one motion stood, water cascading from their fused bodies.  Leo wrapped her legs, crossed ankles resting at the small of his back.  In two steps, he pressed her to the wall, her head buried in the curve of his neck.  He rode her, one hand still secured in her hair the other flat against the wall behind her.

Leo panted, her hand tangled in the pony-tail at the base of his skull her only anchor in the consuming lust that radiated from her.  She tightened, the coiling knot in her stomach vibrating with the warning waves of her release. 

Erol widened his stance, the new angle allowing a seat balls deep.  There was nothing he wouldn’t touch in her.  Not an inch unknown--inside or out.  Her body would accept him, heedless of her mind’s contributions.  Their bodies danced, hers unable to deny his lead.  She erupted, her pleasure drenching him, her body quaking, his anchor the only thing keeping her from exploding into millions of pieces.  He shifted, his length slipping free to glide the crease of her pussy, the plump head seeking shelter in the curve of her belly while he came, coating her thick in his seed.  He turned, his hands still cradling her, to step back into the cooling water.

“You’re mine, Leo.”  He whispered.

She sighed, her chest rising with deep even breaths, her drift to slumber simultaneous to her release.  Even in slumber, she was amazing. 

I claim you.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Erol pulled another knot through the piled twine, a process he'd repeated for the last few hours.  The large pile spread before him became a net, its dimensions narrowing from the middle out to create two arrowed ends with a rounded center.  He was unsure if it would function as intended, but he was willing to attempt the contraption in an effort to please his little Leo.  He sighed.  She was his
Mati
, his mate--whether she acknowledged his claim or not--and in the last few days she'd become a part of him. 
Duša
--my soul--was a fitting name. 

Standing, he shook out the pile until it spread--web like--across the grass, tossing one braided end high to drape a lower hanging branch of an
Aħdar Injam
trees.  He wrapped the trunk several times before securing the end to a large stone rolled to its base.  After repeating the process with the other end, he stood back, watching it sway drunkenly.  Who would trust something so obviously wrong? 

"A hammock!"  Leo squealed, her hands clapping as she bounced up and down. 

Turning, Erol smiled at her infectious excitement and watched as she skipped over, the sun raining down to soak into her.  Her time spent outdoors was obvious in the newly golden hues of her skin.  She glowed, a flushed peach beneath warm honey. 

"No," he growled, catching her in mid leap.  He pulled her close, nose pressed to her hair. 

"Hey," she wiggled, her feet dangling.  "No fair!" 

"I go first.”  He set her down with an unnoticed kiss.  He loved her hair, the heavy chocolate mane framing her face.  It draped her, a riot of thick fat curls that ended at the deep curve of her waist.  Loved that she wore it free, the loose style very similar to that of an unmated Gwerriera Nies female. 

“Really?” Her brow arched.  “You…” she pointed “Want to try
that
?”

A silent stare was all the answer she’d get.  By all that was sane, what male of sound mind would want to try
that
?  It looked about as stable as the leaves swaying idly above it, and as for soothing--how were you supposed to relax in something constantly in motion?  The breeze alone--soft as it flowed--caused it to list precariously.  All that said, there was no way he was letting her climb in before he tested its strength.  If it fell, he’d bruise.  Leo would break.  He placed one knee in the center, a hand gripping the side--a doomed attempt at steadying it--and shifting his weight, brought the other to rest beside it.  There was nothing soothing, nothing comfortable in the pitching sway of this contraption.  Erol focused –ignoring the nauseous roll of his stomach--noting the give in the knotting.  His weight, easily twice hers, held firmly, no weak spots giving beneath him.  It would hold.

“Ummm…a little help there?”  Leo grinned.  What she wouldn’t give for a video recorder.  The look on Erol’s face alone was priceless.  Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe it.  If there was such a thing as dignified discomfort, Erol was the official poster child.  She was tempted to give a little push--the joy of seeing him out of his zone egging her on--but that would just be mean.

He managed to get one foot planted firmly--his other leg and both hands still swaying with each wind encouraged pitch—and, tensing, wrenched his body upwards, his weight distributing unevenly until he was able to catch his balance.

“You may now use the hammock.”  He declared, his tone that of a conquering warrior.

With an excited squeak, Leo leaped in, settled comfortably on her back in the center, and looked up to see Erol tensed, arms stretched as if to catch her.  “I’m fine,” she assured him, unable to quiet her laughter.  Folding her arms behind her head, she closed her eyes, the easy sway already lulling her into a soothing haze.  “Hmmm…this is wonderful.”

“Your pleasure is mine,
Duša
.  Enjoy.”

“Stay,” she whispered, snagging his hand as he turned away. 

Erol stared down at their entwined hands, complete opposites in their make:  his dark to her light, hers tiny within his encompassing palm.  Their time in seclusion was over, the end of her heat no longer making it a necessity.  His brothers would return soon.

“Tell me of your sister,” he said.  He sat, back pressed to the tree, knees raised to rest his arms.  Soon would come the return of her staunch determination to escape him.  A determination he had every intention of continuing to thwart.  She wouldn’t want his presence, not the way she requested it now.  He would relax and enjoy this, the peace of her lethargy a fleeting boon.  With the return of his siblings would come the reminder of what made her so desperate to flee.  Her sister.  A female he found himself antagonistic toward.  Irrationally so.  The short weeks of their acquaintance had revealed several truths to him.  He was attached to her, unexplainably so.  His feeling of her necessity was beyond that of an un-mated male for a female; it rang truer than a primal need to procreate.  He wanted her.  Her sex, her scent, her taste.  The sight of her, the deep husky peal of her voice.  There was nothing he found imperfect.  No, even her unwillingness to submit.  The trait he’d found frustratingly unacceptable now rang as a strength to pass to their young.  He realized too that regardless of her verbal denial of him, Leo’s body recognized him for what he was.  Her mate.  She responded to him with a fullness of sensation that was nothing less than amazing.  The fit of them Goddess Blessed.  She adapted to his world with the wonder of a limitless explorer, something he never would have expected.  Even the chafe of what she termed their ‘Neanderthal-ocracy’ had begun to smooth into a burgeoning acceptance and understanding of his culture.  There was one skew in her adaption curve.  The female who was her other half…this Avi’Nyla Zesiro.  She was unwilling in any capacity to consider the possibility of a life without her sister.  In all honesty, it was a sentiment Erol was more than able to understand.  He flooded with pain at the idea of never seeing either one of his siblings again.  While he could understand it, it changed not at all his determination to keep her.

“My sister.” She closed her eyes, allowing the gentle sway to lull her.  “Avi is…my other half.  We’re so different, but so much the same.  It’s hard to explain.”

“I’ll understand,” he coaxed, the gentle swell of her voice lulling him to the edge of contented wakefulness.

“We grew up…hard.”  That was the easiest way to describe it.  “We took care of each other.  Or rather, she took care of me; she was always so strong.”

“In this you are alike.  I see”

“In this we are nothing alike.  She made sure we were fed, made sure we were safe until we were old enough to join The Alliance.”

“She is a female of strength.” He nodded, his head bumping lightly against the trunk behind him.

“Yes.  That is where we differ.  I haven’t been strong a day in my life.  I’m always scared.  I don’t like conflict; in fact, I avoid it.  I’m weak.  That’s been demonstrated quite clearly to me.  Avi would have never been taken, or stolen, or beaten, or…” She opened her eyes, her face now shaded from the sun.  Erol stood over her, his broad back blocking the penetrating rays.  His expression was thunderous, the anger there unexpected and threatening.

“You are not weak.”  His head shook in denial. his tone angry and insulted.  “You are not!  Only a fool is unaffected when faced with an adversary of greater size and strength.  Only a fool courts conflict when the only outcome is failure.  You are small, female--not weak.”  His tone softened, and his hand came up to brush lightly against her cheek.  “Only the strong survive captivity… survive brutality with their soul, their spirit intact.  The weak crumble.  The weak break.  You are not broken. You are not weak,
Duša
.”

Leo blinked, the face above her blurred by the tears pooling in her eyes.  He lifted her, his hand behind her neck bringing her forehead to meet his as he bent towards her.  “You are a female of strength,”  he whispered, his breath spanning the short space between their lips.  He closed the distance, his lips meeting hers with gentle force.  Lifting her from the hammock, he took her to the soft ground beneath it, his weight blanketing her in reassuring warmth.  Their mating was slow, his focus on her exhaustive.  Not one inch went untouched, un-tasted, un-worshipped.  He paid homage to her strength in the restrained flex of his body as he stroked into her, her legs wrapping around to keep him planted deep with each stroke.  When they both lay replete, bodies relaxed in satisfaction, he gathered her close, spooning her, his body wrapped securely around hers. 

“You are not weak,
Duša
,” he breathed into the thick chocolate of her head, “You are perfect.”

The flames danced between the two males, their bright tongues illuminating the almost identical features.  The relation was obvious to any who cared to look.  Both were firm of jaw, the sharp angles set beneath chiseled slopes of strong cheek bones.  Their eyes--both a deep blue rimmed green--were focused.  Donagh wore locks the color of sand, the ashen brown fading to a pale blonde; but Atif’s hair was a deep impenetrable black.  Both stood over six feet, although their relaxed repose masked their height.  The fire bounced off the broad berth of their shoulders to cast shadows that joined the towering ones of the mountainous enclosure around them.  The
Bashkim
was convened within the protective bowl of the
Andhra-Pedra
valley, a natural enclosure offering protection from Nur’s harsh climate as well as ambush of the two legged variety.  While the
Bashkim
was a time of celebration and re-acquaintance, it was also a time of vulnerability. A clan’s un-mated females all in the same place lent an air of tension and watchfulness anytime it occurred.  The security of those natural stone sentinels helped to temper that strain.  For that reason, their clan gathering had been held here for generations longer than anyone could remember. 

“They’re going to drive each other insane.”  Donagh chuckled, watching Cahil and Uriel.

“Yes,” Atif silently tracking the interactions of his two youngest siblings. 

Their journey had been blessedly uneventful, the trek taking a day less than anticipated.  Its entirety had been marked with multiple disagreements between the two.   

“I can’t wait until Cahil completes his transition.”  He sighed.

“You and our sweet Uriel both,” Donagh  downed the last of his Tangeli wine.  “She seems to be losing patience with our dear brother.”  At that moment, he watched as the female in question stomped into the dwelling erected to house the un-mated females.  She slammed the entrance closed--a feat in itself considering that it was constructed of animal fur and hide--effectively shutting Cahil out.  He was not allowed within the
Zelt
.  No male was. Not even over-protective older brothers. 

“He’ll be traveling to the
Tobba
soon,” Atif stated thoughtfully.  “At this rate, we’re becoming regulars in their midst.”

“I still can’t believe they accepted Neron’s blood pledge.”

“I don’t think he gave them much choice.” He drove his hand into the blonde locks, the rough movement testament to his frustration.  “You should have seen him, Donagh.  He would have plowed through anyone,
Tobba
Priestess included.”

“The fact that he was willing to brave Erol’s wrath is all the demonstration I need.” He handed over a full cup, the aroma of fermented citrus wafting up to tickle his nose. “At least he’ll be there to keep that one in line.”  He nodded towards Cahil, who lounged restlessly in wait for their young sister.