Shades of the Wind (5 page)

“Taking what is mine,” he said. His words were little more than a whisper of breath

against her shoulder.

She felt lightheaded and the world seemed to canter off center for a moment. Her

head fell back against his hard shoulder and he lifted her hands from the railing and

crossed them in front of her, trapping her in his strong arms.

“This isn’t right,” she said.

He didn’t answer for his lips had moved to her shoulder and his tongue was

making darting spirals upon her flesh. There was a slight nip and she cried out, but

almost immediately the sting was soothed.

She felt her womb lurch and then he was lifting her in his arms, holding her to his

brawny body. In the darkness, she could not see his face but the warmth of his body

lulled her and she closed her eyes as he turned from the porch and carried her back into

the house.

Floating on a sea of desire, lost in the arms of a passionate warrior whose body was

hard and strong and lusty, Catherine let herself drift, unable—and unwilling—to stop

what was happening to her. As he placed her on his soft bed and pulled off her robe

and gown, eased the slippers from her feet, all she cared about was how it would feel to

have his muscular chest pressing down upon her aching breasts. She wanted to know

what it would be like to have his warm mouth take hers, to lose herself in his dark gaze.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Khenty stood at the side of the bed and looked down at the beautiful woman lying

before him. His hand shook as he reached out to touch one soft, glorious breast. At her

slight moan, he felt his shaft grow as rigid as stone within the confines of his loose

pants. Swallowing hard, he drew his hand back and began to undress, never once

taking his eyes from her lovely form.

He sat down beside her and stroked her arm. Her virginal flesh was like warm silk

beneath his fingertips. He ached to know every inch of her—outside and in—and he

could feel the sweat forming on his palms as his need grew.

“Slowly, Khenty,” he cautioned himself. “Slowly and gently.”

His hand went to her beautiful hair and he lifted a heavy lock, letting it run through

his fingers. He took up another tress and brought it to his face to inhale the lemony

perfume that clung there, closing his eyes to the intoxicating scent.

“Move over, my love,” he whispered to her, and under the enthrallment he had cast

upon her, she sighed and did as he ordered.

He stretched out beside her, content for the moment to just lie there and look at her

exquisite face and stunning form. He trailed his fingers down her right arm from

shoulder to wrist then lifted her hand to place the softest of kisses on the underside of

her wrist. Beneath his lips, he could feel the beat of her heart pulsing through her veins

and his fangs burst forth. It was all he could do to force them to retract for it was not yet

time to take her life essence into him. First he must pave the way for all the wondrous

years that were to come.

“Come into my arms, my beauty,” he commanded, and when she slipped into his

embrace—her head to his shoulder, one hand to the place where his heart thundered in

his chest—he held her tightly to him.

His hand went to her naked hip and he caressed her, sliding his palm down to the

nether curls that made his fingertips tingle when he touched them. The base of his hand

covered that sweet triangle as his fingers gazed the soft, heated folds that beckoned him

like a siren’s song to explore all that was Catherine.

With his heart pounding, he eased her to her back. “Spread your legs for me, Kate,”

he told her.

A long sigh escaped her perfect mouth as she opened her legs. Her eyes were closed

and there was a gentle, trusting smile on her full lips—lips that drew his own to taste

and savor.

As his tongue slipped between her lips, one strong finger stroked each tender fold

slowly and tenderly, not yet touching the core of her sex, that sweet nub where pleasure

dwelt.

He was gentling her as one would a mare about to be broken to saddle. Taking his

time—not hurrying, not intruding too quickly or too firmly—touching slick flesh and

wiry curls, his kiss deepened until she was responding to his soft seduction. Her hips

lifted toward his hand but he denied her the relief she unconsciously sought, keeping

well away from her clitoris.

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Shades of the Wind

Moving his lips to her ear, he gently blew his breath there and caught her lobe

between his teeth. He smiled as a shudder rippled down her body and she writhed

beneath his hand.

“Do you want me, my beauty?” he whispered against the spirals of flesh in her ear.

“Yes,” she groaned, grinding her buttocks against the sheet.

He slid the tip of his middle finger past her folds and slightly into her waiting

sheath.

“Yes!” she gasped, and shuddered again.

Khenty knew she understood very little about what went on between a man and

woman. She was a virgin and her flesh was yet untried. There was but a vague notion

of the sexual act hovering in her mind but nothing in her experience had ever prepared

her for the pleasure he intended to give her this night.

He planted a kiss on her ear then another on the side of her neck, still another at the

hollow of her collarbone. His warm lips moved across her upper chest and to the

sternum then went lower until his mouth was between her breasts. The hard pounding

of her pulse was an aphrodisiac and it took all his willpower not to allow his fangs to

slip out once more to pierce her tender chest.

His finger went a bit deeper inside and he reveled in the feel of the moistness that

oozed around it, readying her for what was to come. When his mouth claimed the rosy

peak of one breast, she arched her hip up in need for a deeper penetration.

Spiraling his tongue around and around her burgeoning nipple, he merely grazed it

with his teeth and she was shivering like a willow in a strong windstorm. Her little

moans were sweet music to his ears and he gently clamped his teeth over that straining

bud, his finger going just a bit deeper still inside her.

“Oh!” she cried out.

Moist heat clung to his finger from tip to second joint. Her sheath was tight around

his probe, her hymen a sweet little band that labeled her virginal. Though he ached to

press deeper inside her, he did not want to risk rupturing her maidenhead until they

were legally man and wife. He gently removed his finger, smiling at her groan of

disappointment.

He released his gentle hold on her nipple and put his lips to her ear once more.

“I will give you sweet, sweet pleasure, my love,” he told her. “Do not fret.”

Catherine groaned again for the base of his hand was once more pressing against

her nether curls, his wet finger scratching delicately along one fold then the other. Her

hips were undulating against the sheet, her breathing coming in quick, expectant little

pants, her hands opening and closing, her heels digging into the mattress.

“Now you are ready,” he whispered, and moved the pad of his middle finger onto

her love pearl.

Bucking beneath that touch, Catherine cried out and as he began stroking her,

bringing her juices up, the blood down to engorge that tender, swelling little head, the

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

man at her side moved his mouth over the throbbing vein at her throat and as the

ripples of pleasure shot through her lower body, he sank his fangs into her sweet flesh.

* * * * *

Nyria was on her knees at the keyhole, watching the inevitable happening in the

room beyond. Bitter tears fell heedlessly down the housekeeper’s face and the palms of

her hands were brutally scored with the half-moon imprints of her sharp nails.

She made herself watch it all and she knew hatred she could not control for the

young woman whose soul—though not her virginal body—was being claimed by

Nyria’s master.

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Shades of the Wind

Chapter Three

Awakening with the first light of dawn, Catherine shot up quickly in bed, her heart

racing, one hand to her chest. What had snatched her from her slumber quickly faded as

she sat there, striving to hold onto a faint image that was rapidly receding with each

breath she took.

Her body and mind felt heavy, drugged, encased in cottony layers, and it was all

she could do to throw back the covers and swing her legs from the bed. She experienced

instant lightheadedness and reached out to take hold of the bedpost. With legs that felt

rubbery, she pulled herself to her feet and stood there wavering, her hand pressed to

her forehead, clutching the bedpost.

Strange sensations were drifting through her mind—whispery warmth on her lips,

her shoulders, a slight stinging pain upon the side of her neck. She felt drained,

depleted and sleepy. Surmising her lethargy was due to the long trip to Anubeion, she

forced herself to walk across the room to the bathing area to perform her morning

ablutions.

Remembering nothing at all of what had taken place the night before, Catherine

was growing anxious by the time Jacob came to unlock her door and bring in her tray

the next morning. She had been pacing for over an hour, ready to do verbal war with

Nyria about locking the door to her room, but when that door opened, it was the mute

servant who came in with an apologetic smile on his dark face. He signed to her that

Nyria was otherwise occupied and had given him her keys so he could bring

Catherine’s morning meal. Catherine was only slightly mollified as she pulled her robe

tighter around her, but had no desire to take her frustrations out on someone who had

not been a party to her predicament.

Jacob placed Catherine’s breakfast tray on the little table sitting before the western

bank of windows and uncovered a pungent omelet stuffed with sharp cheese,

mushrooms, crispy bacon and peppered with some sort of green herb. He pulled out

her chair and waited until she was seated before shaking out a linen napkin and placing

it in her lap. He looked at her quizzically as she placed a hand on his black-clad arm.

“Are all the prince’s guests locked in their room at night, Jacob?” she signed to the

butler as he waited for her to make her wishes known.

Jacob nodded solemnly. He lifted his hands and told her it was for her own good.

“Why?” Catherine demanded.

The butler’s eyes shifted to the window and his face took on the look of one who is

acutely uncomfortable. When he looked back down at her, he shrugged helplessly. He

signed that it was for the best and that she should not question the master’s motives in

wanting to protect her.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Is he up yet?” Catherine asked.

Jacob shook his head and told her it would be late afternoon before the prince

would be able to see her. He would sleep until sunset.

“Is he ill?” Catherine asked.

Once more Jacob shrugged helplessly, his hands up beside his shoulders as though

to say things were beyond his ability to understand. He smiled gently then turned to go,

stopping politely as Catherine rushed to him and took his arm.

“Where is Nyria?” she signed.

Jacob’s face darkened, his eyes narrowed into unforgiving slits. “With the master,”

he signed with disdain.

Catherine felt her face turn red for there was no denying the implication of neither

Jacob’s words nor the staunch disapproval his quick signing exhibited. Embarrassed,

Catherine rapidly changed the subject.

“Last night,” she said, “there was an animal—”

Jacob shook his head vehemently and turned to go but stopped again when she laid

a restraining hand on his arm. “Do not concern yourself with the beast, Lady

Catherine,” he signed.

“Is it a dog or a wolf?” she asked. “I could not tell in the rain.”

Jacob looked at her, his dark cinnamon eyes seeming to see all the way to her soul

and beyond. He sighed deeply. “Keep away from the beast for as long as you can,

milady,” he warned her, his hands moving quickly.

“Is it that dangerous?” she wanted to know.

Jacob thought a moment and then shook his head. “Not to you,” he told her.

“It was making a terrible racket last night,” she said, and watched Jacob nod his

agreement. “I thought it might have been hurt.”

The butler’s forehead crinkled in such a way it was obvious to Catherine he was

trying to decide whether to tell her something or not. Finally, he let out a long breath

then lifted his hands.

“He seeks a mate,” Jacob signed. “One with whom he may spend eternity.” His

eyes bore into hers. “One for whom he would destroy all mankind in order to protect.”

Catherine blinked, puzzled by the odd statement. There was a sound at the door

and she turned to see a sullen Nyria standing just outside her room.

“The master bid me see to your needs,” Nyria stated. She raked her dark gaze over

Jacob and the mute butler was quick to leave, moving past the housekeeper in such a

way it seemed he was loath to touch her person in any manner. “Lord Bahru is still

abed and sent me away when I knocked at his door.”

Catherine could feel the temperature of the room drop as Nyria stood there glaring