The Lone Warrior (28 page)

Mehcredi’s tongue met his stroke for stroke, clumsy still, but eager and, oh gods, so generous.

Walker tore his lips away from hers, licking down under her jaw, nibbling the long muscle down to her shoulder as her head fell back in surrender. His balls pulled up so high and swollen they hurt, the tender skin tight with lust and
ch’qui
combined, while his cock was a pulling, throbbing weight demanding to thrust and rut and spill.

Without ceremony, he pushed the shirt aside. The Mark on her breast glowed greenish black in the moonslight, pulsing for him. Rising out of the center of the design, dark against the smooth white flesh, her nipple stood stiff and distended, all crinkled delicious velvet. Growling, he licked around a spiral line, then a delectable sweeping curve, vaguely aware of a deep gasping somewhere in the vicinity.

He rolled fully over her, hips already moving in a primal rhythm, one hand hooked beneath her knee, splaying her wide. He reached down to rip open his trews, but before he could do so, her shaking fingers fumbled over his length, gripped and
squeezed
, the pressure perfect—dreadfully, catastrophically perfect.

His cheek pressed against the silky flesh he’d Marked, Walker ground his teeth together so hard the enamel cracked. The
ch’qui
sizzled and burned up and down his spine, in his balls, his cock, his ass, Magick reaching deep inside to finger every place that made him a man and a shaman. The power of the impending orgasm made his eyes water, sucked all the breath from his lungs.

No, no, no
. He fought it, with every fiber of his being, every shred of discipline he possessed. He was a shaman and a warrior, a fully adult male, not a randy youth. It felt like holding off an earthquake, his balls boiling with urgency, the skin of his cock ready to split.

It cost him years of his life to bite back the roar of pain and frustration. What emerged was a sound so strangled it didn’t even qualify as a groan. He shuddered, hissing bloodcurdling oaths in every language he knew, especially Shar.

Strong fingers yanked his head up by the hair. “Shit,” she said. “Walker, c’mon, c’mon!” Mehcredi patted his cheek, none too gently. “Sorry. I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t know, I swear.” She fumbled around behind his ear. What was she doing? Feeling for a pulse? Then she was off again with more of the senseless babble. “I never meant . . .”

“Stop . . . that.” Grabbing her hand, he raised his head. They were sprawled full length on the mat of feathergrass, the assassin crushed beneath him, tears sparkling on her lashes, her lips swollen.
He’d made her cry?
’Cestors, he had no recollection of bearing her down to the ground, none whatsoever.

“Are you all right?” he said brusquely, heart still hammering. Gingerly, he levered himself into a sitting position, and her hands dropped away. Thank the gods for the darkness. Even the back of his neck felt hot.

“Of course.” She sucked in a hurried breath. “But I hurt you and I never meant to, truly.” Her eyes squeezed shut tight. “Sweet Sister, what an unmitigated idiot.”

Walker stared, blinking, sucking in huge gulps of air.

Mehcredi’s mouth continued moving, a stream of self-recriminations and apologies sailing past his ear. Whatever she thought she’d done, it really bothered her. With the greatest of care, he pressed the heel of his hand against his cock. The first
nea-kata
, the first posture, center, ground . . .
Shit!

She lay there, those gorgeous tits quivering slightly with every anxious breath. The dark stain stopped just above her cleavage like some weird tide line. In contrast, her breasts gleamed pure and snowy, like nightpearl flowers in the moonslight.

“Hurt me?” he said through gritted teeth, averting his gaze to scowl at the dog, who grinned back as if he knew.

“Well, you made an awful noise. I had no idea a man’s—” She broke off, biting her lip, and he was certain her face was scarlet, though it was too dark to see. “That you were so, um, sensitive.”

For a moment, he was tempted. Leave her in ignorance and no more advances, her guilt would preserve him from temptation. His famous icy reserve wasn’t doing much of a job, let alone his self-control.
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,
she’d said with absolute conviction. He wanted to throw his head back and howl the irony of it to the moons.

For whatever reason, he couldn’t lie to her about this, not even by omission. He just . . . couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. “You didn’t hurt me,” he said heavily. Fortunately, embarrassment and shame were having a salutary effect where he needed it most.

“But then why—?”

Walker turned away to snag his pack. “You touched me and I was . . . aroused. That’s all.”

“
Really?
”

How, in the names of the honored Ancestors, had she escaped Lonefell if not completely innocent, then relatively unscathed?

“Yes.” He busied himself digging for his spare shirt so he didn’t have to look at her. “Perfectly normal.” Except that it hadn’t been. It had been the most profound, the most amazing—Godsdammit, if he got inside her, he might actually die, but a small, insidious voice whispered the experience would be worth an eternity as ash blowing across the endless sand.

With a considerable effort, he cut the thought off cold. “Mehcredi,” he said, “are you a virgin? The truth now.”

A silence, then Mehcredi sat up and drew the shirt closed over those sweet tits. Walker told himself he was grateful. “You couldn’t tell?” she said.

Amae had been a virgin when they took her, he could swear to it. But he refused to think of his sister that way, of the inevitable rape, the brutal violation. She’d been such a sprite, slender and slim and strong. ’Cestors grant her mercy, death had come swiftly. He’d never see her again, never stand witness as she put some poor bastard through the Test of the Battle Maiden. The old wizard was fucking with him. He had to be.

And that thought took care of any lingering remnants of lust.

“I guessed,” Walker said. “How in the gods’ names did you manage it?”

Her knuckles whitened on the shirt. “I fought like hell.” She snorted. “It helps to be a big lump. And I had a lot of hiding places.”

Ah yes, she’d mentioned a man. A man with friends.

“Taso, wasn’t it?”

She tilted her head. “You remember?”

Walker rather thought he’d like to meet Taso. And his friends. He gave her a wolfish smile. “He wouldn’t stand a chance against you now, armed or not.”

“Gods, yes!” Her answering grin flashed wide and white. “I’d hand him his head.” A roll of the shoulders. “Feels good.”

“So, how much experience have you had, Mehcredi?”

“With . . . sex?”

“Yes.”

Her head was bent over her laces, but she answered readily enough. “I watched the stallions cover the mares and I know what a naked man looks like. I’ve seen people fucking.”

“You have?”

She chuckled. “Are you shocked? I spent a lot of time hiding in the stables. Nedward, the blacksmith, used to take the scullery maids there. He did it standing up. Used to grunt a lot.” Her face darkened.

“One of Taso’s friends?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Another lucky guess.” When he reached out to take both her hands in his, it took all his control not to crush her fingers. “Listen to me, sex is a lot more than rutting in a barn. Or it should be.”

“I know, that’s why I—”

“Listen, damn you! I’m only going to say this once. First times are special.”

“Yes, but—”

“Mehcredi,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t throw it away. The right man’s out there for you, young and strong and clean. Hell, my House of Swords is full of warriors like that.”

She regarded him with fascination. Her lips twitched. “Do you know what you sound like? Like—”

Walker snatched his hands away. “Like your dear old auntie. Yes, I know.” The heat in his cheeks galled him. Thank the gods for the dark. “But that doesn’t make it any less true. Mehcredi”—he leaned forward—“let it go.”

But all she did was stare. His fingers itched to shake her until her teeth rattled. Fuck, whatever it took. “Chasing me is stupid,” he said coolly, deliberately. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Even in the gloom, her flinch was perceptible. So was the recoil. Well, good, that was what he wanted.

Her silvery gaze studied his face, one feature at a time, the force of her concentration as palpable as a touch. “I thought you . . . wanted me.”

“I’m male and you’ve shown you’re willing.” He shrugged. “I do, just not enough.” The only lie he’d ever told her.

“Enough? What does that mean? What are you thinking?” she said, suddenly, fiercely. Strong fingers dug into his forearm. “Tell me.”

He shook her off. “Not enough to make you a convenience, to forgo my honor. It’s for your own good, Mehcredi.”

Godsdammit, a fatal error.

She reared back, her lips thin. For a long moment, she glared into his face. “I get it,” she said. “
Finally
. Sorry for being so slow. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Take care—?” Something fluttered in his belly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There are towns on the route, aren’t there? Dinari said so. I’ll find someone.” She chuckled, though there was more pain than humor in the sound. “You’re looking appalled, right?” She peered. “Yes, you are. Don’t worry. I’ll dress as a woman, take my time.”

When he opened his mouth, she held up a finger. “Give me some credit. I’ll be sensible, I won’t rush it.” She sent him a travesty of a smile. “If the House of Swords is full of good men, I should be able to find one in all of Trinitaria, don’t you think?”

Hard cruel hands on her soft flesh, leering faces, disease, brutality, indifference. His lungs contracted. “You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

“You can’t go out
looking
for it. I won’t permit it.” That was better, more commanding, colder.

She raised an eyebrow. “How did you plan to stop me?”

With a dreadful sense of foreboding, he recognized her expression. The steely resolve of a true warrior. And ’Cestors help him, he’d taught it to her.

“All right then. I’ll wait ’til Trimegrace. It’s a big city. I’m not a complete idiot, no matter what you think.”

He leaped to his feet, the clean shirt bunched in one fist. “There,” he snarled, “you are completely wrong. And not about the city.”

Without a backward look, he stepped out of the bower and strode off, heading out into the desert, needing space and the chill earthy smell of the rocky landscape more than his next breath. But his footfalls, as always, were silent.

Hands on hips, the Necromancer stood in the center of the rutted track that wound its way through the gates of Nerajyb Nyzarl’s new estate. He turned a full circle, tugging at his lower lip. It would do, he conceded. Very well, in fact.

The main building, only two stories high, sprawled across a small rise, looking down over the rocky valley and across to the dusty hills in the far distance. The Necromancer had to admit he was surprised—on more than one count. He’d imagined the desert as an ocean of dunes, rolling all the way to the horizon under a pitiless sun. The sun was pitiless all right, but it shone on an arid landscape of gravel and scree, crisscrossed by wadis and dotted with clumps of hardy mannaplants and stands of feathergrass. The few small trees visible were bent almost horizontal, sporting narrow gray green leaves and gnarled trunks.

It was a relief to turn his gaze to the house, surrounded by verdant green. Three wells drew sweet water from far below and Ghuis Gremani Giral had lavished it on lawns and flower beds and fountains and purplemist trees. He could hear the quiet splashing even from here, outside the wall. Smaller buildings clustered about gave the impression Nyzarl’s mansion had pupped—stables, guard barracks, quarters for guests and huts for slaves. Everything was constructed of mud brick, plastered an eye-aching white.