Gift of the Goddess (37 page)

“I’ll bet she has,” muttered Trey as he handed the reins of their vranee to the boy. He squared his shoulders and took Anje’s free hand, his own firm and faintly moist. “Let’s go, then.”

Go where? Her puzzlement increased as they entered the verdant dimness of the forest and the voices grew closer. The path opened up into a clearing and her mouth dropped open.

Brin’s grip tightened. “Behold,” he said softly. “Lufra’s temple.”

Before them stretched a vast, shadow-dappled expanse, bracketed by two lines of simply enormous sorrowtrees, their graceful, weeping branches interwoven to form a roof of living green. The forest floor beneath them was carpeted by a rippling sea of grass dotted with small flowers, their white starry faces upturned to the stray shafts of light piercing the canopy above. The whole space rustled and swayed on unseen currents of air.

192 Gift of the Goddess

Anje inhaled deeply. The air felt crisp and clean in her lungs. It smelled green, of rising sap intermingled with a piercing sweetness.

“Goddess daisy.” Brin indicated the flowers and at once she recognized the perfume. It was in the herbal soap the Feolin used, the one she liked so much.

About a dozen people were clustered at the far end of the temple, dwarfed by the soft, cavernous volume of it. As she walked down the nave with the men she loved more than life itself, the grass yielded under Anje’s boots, clinging to her ankles, before slipping away, almost reluctantly. What would it feel like brushing against her bare skin? She shivered.

“Brin!” A tiny woman wearing a long, tightly fitted gown detached herself from her companions and rushed forward, her hands outstretched. “You’re dreadfully late.”

The shaman stepped forward to catch her up in a hug, her head pressing against his ribs, but Anje didn’t hear his rumbled reply. She couldn’t drag her gaze from the statues gleaming in the shifting shadows. There were four of them.

Maiden, Mother, Crone and Harlot. Lufra smiled at Her worshippers, depicted as a slender girl barely old enough to have breasts. And there She was as a crone, her wrinkled face stern with wisdom. As the Mother, Her lovely head was bent to the child in Her arms, Her belly proud with new life.

They were made of the same pale stone as the figure on Brin’s dresser, inlaid with silver and gold and colored gems that splintered the light, but it was the final statue that dragged the breath from Anje’s lungs and made her head swim.

The goddess embraced a dragon, not much bigger than She. Her smooth limbs were twined around the scaly torso. The creature’s gold-tipped claws dug into the soft flesh of Her hip and its leathery wings wrapped Her up. At first glance, it appeared the beast was devouring Her, but a more careful inspection revealed that Lufra was laughing, Her head thrown back. One hand the clasped the dragon’s rigid, pointed phallus, while its forked tongue slid over Her milky throat.

It was the most beautiful, frankly sensual thing Anje had ever seen. A deep burning warmth suffused her belly. Trey’s arm curled around her waist. “The Lust Dragon,” he murmured. “Her most popular aspect.”

Gratefully, she leaned into his solidity, only gradually becoming aware of the silence. Four men wearing snowy white sarongs and six women in gracefully clinging gowns stood frozen, staring.

At her.

Not a limb moved, not an eyelash flickered. She folded her arms and tilted her chin at an aggressive angle. “What?” she demanded. “Haven’t you seen a Child of the Mother before?”

“Well, no.” The small woman released Brin and held out her hands. Automatically, Anje bent to catch them in hers. “But know you are welcome.” She must have been well into her forties, but she was lovely still—her powerful, natural presence enhanced by a mature, confident beauty. It could only be Lady Chelisand, the cousin Trey found so

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formidable. The resemblance was there in the set of her cheekbones and her auburn hair, several shades darker than Trey’s. The High Priestess cocked her head to one side and scanned Anje’s face, feature by feature. But when their eyes met and tangled, Chelisand snatched her hands back as if they’d been singed.

Pressing her lips together, she stepped away and bowed her head, a dignified, graceful gesture that conceded very little. “You honor us.”

She turned to Brin, the gown parting on one side to reveal a slice of creamy flesh, all the way to her hip. She wore nothing beneath. “You were right, shaman,” she said. “She’s the one.” A delicate brow arched in Anje’s direction. “What’s your name, Child of the Mother?”

The link flared with warmth and Brin’s calloused palm came to rest hard and comforting on Anje’s shoulder. Some of the tension whispered out of her. “This is Anje,” he said, his deep voice carrying clearly in the soft air. “My Bondmate.”

The silence rang like a thunderclap. One of the young women shifted abruptly, then stilled. Another gasped audibly, her hand over her mouth, eyes stretched wide with shock. Chelisand turned to frown them down. Her gaze traveled to the torques nestled in the collar of Anje’s shirt and her brow furrowed. “An unnecessary complication.” Her lips compressed again. “The Rite will be harder on you. Maybe even impossible. Brin, how could—”

“Chel.” Trey cleared his throat. His hand tightened on Anje’s waist. “That’s not all.” He stroked his fingertips over the battered torque that circled his neck.

Chelisand’s smooth brow creased as her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.” Her tone remained absolutely even, but Anje thought the admission irritated her.

Ah Mother, they were fine, her loves! No woman had ever been gifted with so much. An echo of Trey’s rueful laughter ghosted through the link and she knew what she had to do. “Trey is my Bondmate also,” she said. Let Chelisand and her priestesses make of that what they willed!

The High Priestess whirled on Trey, her skirts flying. “That’s impossible,” she said flatly.

Trey just looked at her, a small smile playing over that carnal mouth.

Chelisand dragged in a breath. “If they fail—”

Trey shrugged. “I know.”

“Chelisand.” Brin’s dark baritone jerked the woman’s head around. A flush darkened his high cheekbones, but his gaze was level, uncompromising. “There’s more.” His hand closed hard enough on Anje’s shoulder to make her gasp. “Trey is mine also. They both are. And I am theirs.”

Chelisand’s beautiful face went slack with surprise. Her mouth opened and closed. “
What
?”

194 Gift of the Goddess

A ripple of reaction ran through the shamans and priestesses. Someone gave a sharp bark of nervous laughter, swiftly stifled. A woman whimpered, deep in her throat.

The High Priestess pushed a lock of hair out of her eye. Her hand trembled. She swallowed. “
Tell me
,” she said in a thready whisper.

“The Bond is three-way,” said Brin. “We did it last night.” He indicated the statues with a jerk of his chin. “It wouldn’t have happened without Her approval. You should know that.”

Chelisand shook her head. “Of all the men in the world, I would never have believed—”

“Believe it,” growled Brin. He tucked Anje under his arm and swooped on Trey, kissing him hard enough to make him stagger.

He drew back, still gripping Trey’s jaw. “Go.” His hand fell away. “Go, before I—” The link rang with love and grief, reverberating like a temple gong. Brin inhaled sharply and turned his back on the other man.

His dark eyes seemed to penetrate to the depths of Anje’s soul. “Scout.” The kiss was deep and swift. Before she had a chance to respond, he was striding away into the forest, followed by a gaggle of priestesses, tripping over their long skirts as they broke into a trot to keep up.

Anje swayed with shock as the link shut down and Trey’s arms circled her from behind. “I’ll be with you.” His voice was warm against the side of her throat. “Remember it, Anje. Always.”

Chelisand put a hand on his arm. “Come, little cousin. You can’t help them now.”

Slowly, Trey released Anje and stepped back. The despair in his expressive face wrung her heart. She tilted her chin and forced a smile, though her belly roiled with fear. “Go,” she said. “I love you.” Then she turned and walked after Brin into the dimness of the forest.

Behind her, she heard Chelisand say, “Let’s have a cup of roberry and a chat.” Trey’s noncommittal grunt made her lips quirk.

Before she could reach the shade of the trees, a stocky man stepped in front of her, forcing her to a halt. “Lady Anje.” He bowed deeply. “I am Laran, your team leader.”

“Team?”

His teeth gleamed as he smiled, but his dark brown eyes were very serious. “We will be responsible for your care until the Rite commences.” He gestured. “There are four of us who have been honored. This is Ged.” Ged was young, lean and lithe, with a wide, laughing mouth and a long tail of dark blond hair hanging down his back.

“Berde.” As he bowed his greeting, she thought Berde might be another relation of Trey’s. There was a distinct glint of red in his thick curls, though his expression was so grave it didn’t resemble Trey’s at all. The overall impression was of dignified composure.

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“Jasha.” This one had dreamy eyes and a poet’s mouth. His cheeks were flushed with excitement. He was brown and compact, no taller than she was.

“This way.” Laran ushered her down a different path.

“Brin had six.”

“Your pardon, Lady?”

“Brin had six,” she repeated. “But I only have four.”

“There’s a lot of him to go around.” Jasha laughed. “Four is customary, but so many of the priestesses volunteered, Chelisand increased the numbers and drew lots.”

“I see.” As she relaxed her fists with an effort of will, she caught Laran and Berde exchanging a glance over her head.

“Here we are, Lady.” They’d reached a low building set in a lovely clearing. The gentle chatter of running water filled the air as a small stream cascaded over a set of pinkish rocks, setting lacy ferns nodding. It was very pretty and it filled Anje with the darkest suspicion.

“Come in, please.” Ged held a door open for her, his smile guileless.

“This way.” Gently, Laran took her arm and guided her into what was clearly an ablutions room. It was far more luxurious than Brin’s, with a huge bath big enough for…

Anje came to an abrupt halt.

“Lady Anje?” It was Laran again.

“What?” she said gracelessly, her heart banging against her ribs.

“Do you understand what we are to do here?”

“I think so.”

“Nonetheless, I will make it clear.” Laran looked past her shoulder and nodded. Immediately, Ged knelt to remove her boots and Berde unlaced her shirt and pushed it back, baring her breasts. Jasha was swishing a hand in the bath water, cheerfully naked, displaying a taut, muscular ass.

Anje choked. “No. Stop. I—”

Laran ignored her instinctive protest. “In order to participate in the Great Rite, you must be at an absolute razor’s edge of sexual tension. Powerful enough to send you mad. We have only three days to get you to that point.”

Berde pulled down her trews. Anje fought the urge to cross her arms across her body. Her mouth was as dry as dust.
Submit
, she thought,
don’t fight
. But it was so hard, when they
smelled
wrong. She gritted her teeth, wanting Brin and Trey so badly it hurt.

“Each of us has been chosen for a particular gift.” For the first time, Laran smiled and the effect was beautiful with his earnest brown eyes. “The only prohibitions are that we may not hurt you unless you wish it and that you must not offer to the Goddess until the Rite. If it’s any consolation, we may not offer either.” He stepped back and scanned her from head to toe. A strange expression flitted across his face. It looked very

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much like regret. “You are exquisite, Lady Anje. The Law means that we cannot fuck you, but it will be our privilege to pleasure you to madness. But first you must be clean.” He nudged her toward the bath.

“I bathed last night!”

“You must be clean, inside and out.”

After a startled second, Anje perceived his meaning and her self-control shattered. “No!” she growled and palmed the knife from her forearm sheath, the only thing she was wearing.

But not even a Child of the Mother could hold off four determined men indefinitely. Half an hour later, she lay panting on a high, padded table, rigid with humiliation, every orifice sluiced, every crease scrubbed. They’d enjoyed it, the bastards. Every one of the four was naked and they were all hard. The odor of male musk hung heavy in the air. She jerked her attention away from all that jutting flesh, from intriguing differences in length and girth and list. Tastes lingered on her tongue, Brin’s imperious bulk, spiced with heat and darkness, Trey spilling into her eager mouth, hot and metallic and beloved.

As if to add insult to injury, her nostrils were also teased by the scent she loved, reminding her painfully of Brin’s herbal soap, of the smell of his skin. Goddess daisy, he’d said.