The Lone Warrior (43 page)

Her chuckle was deep and rich. “I think you like it.” With no more warning than a soft intake of air, she clamped down hard on his girth.

Walker’s head swam. He powered through the hot clasp, thrusting again and again, harder and harder, slamming her against the tree. A small part of his brain was conscious of Mehcredi’s voice, urging him on with keening cries that grew higher and more desperate with every thrust. Ah gods, how he loved those sounds, so quintessentially female! Her heels drummed in the small of his back. His wet hair fell in his eyes, but he couldn’t spare a hand to tuck it back.

Nothing mattered save the godsawful, wonderful pressure in his balls and the woman in his arms, alternately shuddering and calling his name as they worked closer and closer toward a shattering climax. Growling deep in his throat, he hitched her higher, stroking hard and deep as she raced him to the finish.

“Argh, gods! There . . . ah, there!” Her legs tightened around him like a vise and her body arched up in a long beautiful bow. “
Walker!
”

Thank all the gods. Walker released the last vestiges of control. His buttocks hollowed as he tensed, caught by the searing intensity of the boiling rush from balls to cock. But even as exquisite pleasure rippled the length of his shaft, even as he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning his relief into the curve of her neck, he knew.

He’d done precisely as she’d asked—
he’d let go
. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he’d surrendered some part of himself—his heart, his soul—who the hell knew exactly? Still reeling, he turned his head to nuzzle at Mehcredi’s neck, getting a breathy mumble in response. Worse, if he wasn’t careful, he’d compromise his duty to his people. Because for the first time since the death of the Shar, he had a vulnerable spot.

You had nothing left to lose before,
whispered the voice of reason, the voice he was coming to loathe.
Now you do
.

All because of a child-woman, a person with no earthly idea of how relationships worked. Not that he was any pattern card in that respect, he had to admit. A fine pair.

He eased back, supporting her until she could stand. Mehcredi leaned against his shoulder and gave a long low whistle, like a boy. “My knees don’t work anymore.”

Just like that, she made him smile. Father’s balls, this had fucking disaster written all over it. He must have been mad to think of bringing her within a hundred miles of Nyzarl . . .

The gods hold hostage the ones we love.
The Ancestors had a proverb for every occasion. Very wise.

From where he stood on a rocky eminence, the Necromancer could see a storm building to the west. But the clouds behaved strangely, roiling about close to the ground, distorting the air so that it shimmered. The breeze picked up, bringing with it an acrid flavor that caught at the back of the throat.

Ah. The old man had done well, guiding them through the endless arid hills. This was the spot.

His robes fluttering, the Necromancer braced himself against the increasing wind, enjoying the sensation of strength. “You are watching, Xotclic?”

That feeling at the base of his skull, like the brush of abrasive fingertips, a whisper on the rising wind. “Ss.”

“Pasha.” The old man appeared at the Necromancer’s side as if he’d sprung out of the stony soil. He wrung his gnarled hands. “Please. Send a man to warn them.” He indicated the small settlement below, a collection of mud huts and crude animal pens, crouched next to a muddy seep.

“Too late.” The Necromancer glanced at his guard captain. “Keep our people behind the ridge, out of sight.”

Hopping from foot to foot in his agitation, the old man broke into a torrent of incoherent words, curses and pleas, even tears.

“Quiet.” The Necromancer closed his eyes, extending his other senses. The space creature seethed with the agony of separation, radiating its own strange Magick. Driven by blind all-consuming hunger, it didn’t kill for pleasure. It had no intelligence as such, no moral sense. All it knew was that the energy released by death eased the pain. But he’d guessed right enough. Without his intervention, the space djinn would die in the dry desert heat.

His eyes bright with interest, he watched the air boil and thicken, people emerge from their tents and try to run. The men thrust the women and children behind them, jabbing with staffs and swords, but it was useless. Sharp reports echoed across the desert, competing with screams of the wounded. The Necromancer’s gaze narrowed as a young woman snatched up a burning brand from the campfire and skewered the djinn descending on a child.

With an ear-aching shriek, it exploded in glittering shards that twisted slowly in the wind and fluttered to the valley floor.

“Highly sensitive to heat.” Dotty’s voice came from behind him. “Did you hear? It went . . . pop.” She giggled. “Pop, pop, pop.”

“Should enjoy the glaciers in the north then.”

“Oh, yes.” A stifled snort of merriment. “If it doesn’t kill you before you can offer to show it the way.”

The camp was strewn with bodies, a half dozen or so still writhing, agony spilling out of them in high-pitched whimpers and moans. The djinn stones he’d seen in the old man’s mind, boring through living flesh until they reached the heart and shattered it. What an extraordinarily creative way to kill.

Gathering his robes around him, the Necromancer smiled at Dotty. “I don’t think so.” He strode toward the carnage, Nyzarl’s strong heart pumping hard in his breast. “Come, Xotclic, there’s enough for both of us.”

“Ss.”

Walker’s white teeth ripped the last shred of meat from a sandmat bone. Tossing it to the expectant Scrounge, he lay back in the bower and stacked his hands behind his head. Speckled shadows dappled his long limbs.

Mehcredi longed to dapple them too. With her tongue.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said. “Not wearing clothes, I mean.”

He shrugged. “Go to sleep.”

She touched a knot on his collarbone. “How did you break it?”

“Jumped out of a second-story window.”

“And this one?” A pale ugly ripple on the dark skin of one forearm.

“A diabloman with a throwing star.”

“What about—?”

He grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing, Mehcredi?”

“Exploring.” She lowered her gaze to his groin, where his shaft lay quietly against a hard thigh. “I’ve never seen a naked man before, not close-up.” She leaned forward. “Oh, look, it moved!”

“Godsdammit!” He came up on one elbow, the hard planes of his face flushed.

She’d never have another chance. Mehcredi laid a palm against the center of his chest. “Let me?” she said. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

For the space of three or four heartbeats, Walker stared at her, his eyes glittering. Then he blinked, a sweep of long sooty lashes. “What the hell.” He relaxed, shoving his pack under his head as a pillow. “Be my guest.”

Oh, gods. She wasn’t going to rush this, not for anything. Her heart stumbling with excitement, she began with his hands, comparing their palms, stroking up over the muscled swell of biceps to the strong neck and broad shoulders, the complex struts of his collarbones and ribcage. Except for the scars, his skin was so smooth.

His eyes were closed, his face calm.

When Mehcredi pressed a kiss to the knot on his collarbone, he huffed out a breath but he didn’t stop her. Encouraged, she ran her hands over his ribs. Walker twitched. “Ticklish?” she asked.

One dark eye opened. “No.” It fell shut again.

A lie if ever she’d heard one. Grinning to herself, Mehcredi transferred her attentions to the muscled planes of his chest. His heart thudded beneath her fingertips, strong and a little fast. Fascinated, she stroked over ridges and dips, luxuriating in his heat, his sheer solidity. Gooseflesh chased her touch. A warm dark brown, his nipples drew up into small peaks. Her own nipples tingled in response. She’d loved him touching them, suckling them.

Gods, he was a banquet, stretched out before her!

She stared, her brows knitted. His cock had expanded, it looked . . . tighter, the soft skin slipping back to reveal the first hint of a broad rosy head.

Keeping a cautious eye on it, she extended her tongue and licked around one nipple. He tasted good, clean and salty, his flesh like crinkled velvet. Untouched, his shaft stirred, filling.

“Mehcredi.” His fingers skated over her shoulder to tangle in her hair.

“Not stopping.” Gently, she tugged the other nipple between her teeth, and unable to resist, reached down to cradle his cock in her hand.

With a soft curse, Walker arched his hips, thrusting into her loose fist. Mehcredi lifted her head. Gods, he was swelling in her grip, the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, hot and throbbing and so
alive
. Experimentally, she squeezed, sliding soft delicate skin over an ironhard core.

Walker swore again.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes. Gods!” A pause. “Could be better.” His jaw was set, the tendons in his neck taut. “Use your mouth.”

Sensory memory made the nerves behind her pubic bone contract in a silvery spasm. Lips, tongue, fingers. That night in the Three Rivers Inn, he’d made her throb, sent her flying. Surely she could do the same for him now?

Walker shifted his legs apart so she could kneel between them. Mehcredi had to swallow hard. Sweet Sister, her mouth was watering.

He was ferociously erect now, stiff and quivering, the heart-shaped head of his cock completely exposed, shining with moisture. When she bent her head to swipe her tongue across the curve of it, Walker inhaled sharply. Salty, a little bitter, the texture smooth and dense like a ripe fruit.

Impatiently, she shoved his knee aside with her shoulder, opening him up so she could run her fingers over his balls. The swordmaster jerked once, then froze, his breath going raspy. Almost hairless, weighty and swollen, rosy and hot with life.

A single blow and he’d be in agony. Gods, it wasn’t possible for a man to make himself more vulnerable.

Mehcredi met the hot midnight gaze over the muscled length of his body. His eyes glittered when she licked her lips. “Tell me what you like.”

“Lick. Suck.” He fell back, an arm over his eyes and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No teeth.”

“All right.” Dipping her head, Mehcredi ran the flat of her tongue over the ridge that bisected his scrotum, progressing with a long luxurious sweep up the underside of his straining shaft. She finished with a spiral lick around his cock head, whisking the tip of her tongue into the little slit there.

Walker grunted and his free hand clenched in the robes beneath him, so she did it again. And again.

She didn’t know quite what to call the sounds he made—Groans? Growls? Whines? But his hips were rising to meet her and she was drunk on erotic power. Her sex was so wet and puffy, she could pleasure herself simply by pressing her thighs together. Her heart singing, she fisted him at the root, cradled his hot heavy balls in her palm and sucked down as much of the rest as she could, relishing the way his girth stretched her lips, his weight sliding velvet smooth over her tongue. His heart’s blood pulsed beneath the thin skin. He tasted musky and strong, with a hint of bitterness like tears, like nothing she’d ever known.

When his fingers speared into her hair, she fumbled, choking. He loosened his grip. “Sorry.”

Mehcredi hauled in a breath and rolled her shoulders. She relaxed, allowing him to dictate the rhythm. With an inward grin, she got in a sly lash of the tongue on the sensitive head at every pass.

At this moment, Walker was hers, and hers alone. He wasn’t thinking of all he’d lost or of killing diablomen; his whole world was under her control—she, Mehcredi of Lonefell, pleasuring him until he groaned and bucked, begging wordlessly for release.

He tugged sharply.

“Mmm?” she murmured, ramping up the suction, loving the way he shuddered.