VirtualHeaven (6 page)

Nilrem. Furtively, she pinched her arm. Still awake.

Dream? Game? Real life? The here and now were Kered and his
quest. Should she have stayed on the mountain? No. Kered could protect her and
Nilrem could not. There were no guarantees that another storm would send her
home. Whoever this Samoht was, he sounded vicious and likely to return, for he,
too, sought Nilrem’s wisdom. Too many unknown dangers lurked about this world.
She faced the glaring need for warriors.

The decision to go felt right. A peace descended and her
stomach knots eased. The warrior’s obvious strength was like a magnet, and she
was the iron filings. She intended to stick to him. She didn’t know why, only
that it seemed right to do so.

Kered watched Maggie for several moments before entering the
chamber. Besides taking care of his personal needs, he had dragged a supply of
brush across the entranceway, a supply he had stored in a side chamber on his
journey out to Nilrem. His breath caught in his throat as Maggie’s hair fell
down her back. The bandage had concealed its beauty. His hands itched to gather
it up and hold it against his cheek. Soft it would be, he was sure, and
clean—and scented with flowers, strange flowers with an erotic scent he did not
recognize. A pleasure slave’s scent. Only pleasure slaves danced. And only for
their master’s enjoyment.

Maggie’s shoes were fashioned for dancing.

Carrying her on his back to the cave had been a torture with
her warm legs about his waist and her sleek arms encircling his neck. Carrying
her had proved his inadequate attainment of sensual control. Granted, warriors
had no need to temper their lusts, but some discipline was necessary so one did
not approach battle with important equipment unsheathed. He laughed at the
thought and Maggie spun around, her hair swirling about her shoulders. His
loins tightened. So much for sheathing one’s sword, he thought, and sank to the
ground before her.

“Food?” he asked.

“Sure. Any pizza in there?” she quipped as he rummaged in
his pack.

“Pizza? What is pizza?” Kered handed her a thick wedge of
brown bread.

“Pizza is a food from…my place.” Maggie sniffed the bread,
then gnawed on the chewy crust. “Hm, good, kind of a nutty taste,” she said
between bites.

“Water?” He held out a gourd stoppered with a wooden plug.

She nodded. When he pulled the plug she drank sparingly,
wiping her chin on the back of her hand. “Thank you, Ker.”

The flames leapt to consume the small sticks he fed them.
His face remained impassive, but his words betrayed his curiosity. “What is
a…cur, a mutt?”

Maggie sighed. “A mutt is a four-legged animal, a dog, from
my place. It is a tamed animal, furry, a pet.”

He smiled warmly. “We have dogs and pets in Tolemac. Not
such a bad thing to be.”

Maggie snorted in an exasperated manner.

“In what way am I mean-spirited? Mangy?” He continued to
pursue the subject, poking at the fire with a stick in studied nonchalance.

She considered his smile. “I guess the truth should be okay
for someone who’s reached the seventh level of awareness. You treat me with
contempt, without knowing if I am worthy of that contempt. It so happens I’m a
well-respected metalsmith in…my place.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Only men work metal.”

What was the point?
But she tried again. “I assume
you hold all manner of people without your beloved arm rings to be less than
you. Where I come from, all men and women are created equal. In practice, many
are not treated so, but still, we try.”

“Men and women are not equal in Tolemac.”

“No kidding,” she muttered, picking at a ragged nail and
wishing for a manicure.

“It is not possible for men and women to be equal. You could
not best me in a fight. Want to try?”

Maggie looked up. He grinned, exposing his strong white
teeth, and Maggie found herself grinning, too. “No, I don’t want to try. And
I’m not referring to physical equality. I’m talking about equality of life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness.”

“Happiness?” Kered shook his head. “I am no philosopher.
That, thank the wise men, is reserved for the twelfth level of awareness.”

They sat in silence. Warmth from the fire began to creep
outward to envelop them. Maggie rubbed her arms, realizing how cold she’d
become. The stone floor chilled her bottom. She could see Kered’s breath on the
air.

“How am I mangy?” he persisted.

Maggie studied him. “Your hair. When was the last time you
brushed it?”

“Brushing my hair is last on my list of priorities!”

“Fine.” Maggie drew up her knees and settled her skirt down
around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. “Tend to your own mangy
locks.”

Kered rummaged in his pack and withdrew a brush. It was like
the one Maggie’s father had on his dresser. It had no handle, but would nestle
in one’s palm. Kered tossed it to her. She ran her fingers over its dark blue
bristles. They were soft and seemed made of a natural substance rather than the
plastic she’d expected from the color. She bent her face and sniffed the bristles.
They smelled clean and fresh.

Maggie nodded her thanks and began to brush her hair. He
stared at her, watched her openly, and her hands grew stiff and her arm motions
jerky as his gaze became heated. Stealing a look at him, she saw that his
glance had fallen from her hair to her breasts.

“Come here,” he said in a low voice.

“Why?” Maggie dropped her arms and hugged her chest.

“A slave must do as she is bidden,” Kered replied.

“Well, I’m not a slave. If you want to make a request, say
please and tell me why,” she said, stalling for time.

“Your impertinence is staggering.” But if Kered was angry,
his soft and seductive tone did not betray it.

“And you’re a cur, through and through,” Maggie returned.

“Come then, please, and tend my hair.”

Maggie stared in disbelief. He had said please! Her palms
prickled with sweat. Rising slowly, she walked around the fire. Sinking to her
knees behind him, she considered the tangled mass of his long hair. The fire
lit it with streaks of gold. Heat crept up her face. When she touched his hair,
he shivered.

It took what seemed like forever to remove the tangles. His
hair fell soft and silky, thick and heavy over his shoulders. When it was done,
she lingered, stroking the brush through the long brown waves.

“Enough.” His voice seemed hoarse, almost rough. Maggie
snatched back her hands.

“Perhaps you could tie it back?” she finally said into the
silence. Maggie looked at the objects he’d spilled out on the stone floor when
he’d taken out the brush. One of them was the game gun. She shoved it deep into
his pack, then picked up a strip of supple leather, like the thongs he’d used
to lace her boots. “What about this?”

Kered turned and looked over his shoulder. He grunted assent
and then went back to his contemplation of the flames. Maggie used the brush to
stroke his hair into a thick gathering at his nape, wound it with the leather
thong, and tied it. She moved back to her place on the opposite side of the
fire. The air practically crackled with something she didn’t recognize. He
exuded a power and warmth that caught at her. It had taken all her self-control
not to let her hands drift to his shoulders, his neck, and his arms. Brushing
his hair had been an intimate act that had set her blood rushing. Her lips felt
puffy, her breasts tender against the soft knit dress.

“We should sleep.” Kered stuffed the brush and his other
things into his pack.

“Okay.” Maggie looked about and sniffed the dry, stale air.
“How long do you think it will take to reach our destination?”

“Months,” he said.

“Months?” she repeated dumbly. “I can’t be gone months. My
family will be sick with worry.”

“Nevertheless, the quest could last for months.” He added
several logs to the fire. “Even longer if we miss our sleep and are weary.”

Maggie bit her lip. The thought of months away from home
churned her stomach.

“There is no going back, only forward.”

His words were ominous. She swallowed hard.

“We will rest here.” Kered indicated the cloak he’d spread
by the fire. He stretched out on his side and propped his head on one hand.

Maggie looked him over. In other circumstances, she would
never cross that small space and lie down beside him, but her head ached. She
rubbed her hands along her chilled arms to warm them. Even if she could find a
way to be sent back home, that home was now months away. Kered looked warm and
safe—comforting. She glanced over her shoulder. “Are there any animals in
here?”

“Perhaps a snake or two,” he said, the pitch of his voice
dropping.

“Snakes?” That did it. She approached warily and sat next to
him. He swept her down and pulled her against his body.

She lay stiff and frightened as if someone had suddenly
starched her. She’d never sleep, she thought, with his body so close, his
breath warming her cheek.

Kered smoothed his hand along Maggie’s bare arm, raising
goose bumps and causing Maggie to shake.

“I will not hurt you,” he murmured against her ear. His lips
pressed there briefly and his fingers stroked her skin, exploring the raised
bumps as if they fascinated him.

Beware what you wish for!
Maggie squeezed her eyes
closed. She remembered many nights wasted wishing for a night with a man such
as this. Her blood rushed and her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest.

Kered encircled her waist, drawing her even closer.

She couldn’t breathe. His hand gently massaged her midriff.
With infinite slowness, his hand rose and came to rest beneath her breasts.
“Your heart pounds in fear,” he whispered against her ear as he lightly skimmed
his cheek against her hair.

Maggie clamped her hand to his wrist.

“Sleep, little slave. Sleep.” He nuzzled her neck, breathed
in her scent, and lowered his hand to her waist.

Maggie didn’t move for what seemed like hours after Kered’s
breathing relaxed. It was less her circumstances that kept her awake than the
press of his body against her. His thighs were now cradling hers. His arms were
iron-hard about her and his scent was a mysterious combination of male sweat
and some spicy fragrance she assumed was a soap he used. His breath feathered
against her cheek. She no longer feared that she would be cold. She was on
fire.

Sometime in the night, Maggie turned. He gathered her in. A
feeling, a need to protect, one he had never felt for a woman before, rose and
enveloped him. He drew her against his body, a body that needed sleep, but
couldn’t rest.

Lust rose.

Slaves were made for manly lust, but this one, this woman,
was like no slave he had ever met. She made him want to shout and tear his hair
in frustration. She made him want to take her. His hand slipped into her thick,
black hair. Silky and soft. Exotic. A woman from beyond the ice fields
somewhere. She had hit her head, couldn’t or wouldn’t remember her journey to
Nilrem’s mountain, but it mattered not a whit. She was a slave, albeit an exotic
slave, her worth phenomenal on the auction block.

He drew a knuckle down her cheek. Her skin felt like fine,
precious alabaster. He had never seen a being whose skin could change color,
and he wondered if the soft skin of her breasts would flush such a beguiling
rose when she was aroused. His lips grazed her eyelids. Her breath caressed his
cheek and he shivered, his manhood surging to even greater tumescence against
her. He shifted uncomfortably.

His resolve was tested—sorely. She must accompany him on his
quest. It would not do to slake his lust on her. He had no need of the
entanglements of a pleasure slave when lifemating was in his future—and she did
not seem amenable. She had trembled in his arms. He would not hurt her, but he
sensed she did not believe that. Even in sleep, she lay guarded, not quite
coming against him.

He ran a hand lightly along her arm. She murmured in her
sleep, and he slipped his palm over her hip and cupped a gently rounded
buttock. Her hips shifted against him and he groaned softly. Then her hand fell
from her side and dropped between them, the back of her hand pressing against
his swollen manhood.

He edged her away, rolled to his feet, and strode from the
rock chamber. Carefully, he drew back the brush concealing the entrance and sat
down against the cave wall. High in the sky, the waning conjunction shone on
the barren landscape. A land without peace. He must remember his
priorities—earning arm rings so that he might negotiate peace, not to mention
finding a lifemate to enhance his power. Those thoughts kept him awake even
more than the beguiling woman asleep by the fire.

A thrashing, grunting noise startled Maggie awake.

“Ker?” she called. The fire had died and a harsh, heated
glare penetrated the opening overhead. Her mouth tasted abominable. The
grunting came again, ac­companied by more thrashing.

Maggie shoved her feet into her fur-wrapped shoes and crept
cautiously along the cave wall. She kept one hand out before her as the light
grew dimmer the farther from the chamber she moved.

“Oh, my God!” Maggie cried. The beast crouching over Kered,
claws clamped on his biceps, turned red feral eyes on her. It resembled a huge,
reddish-brown monkey, but stood twice the size. Long fangs dripped saliva on Kered’s
chest. Kered took advantage of the beast’s distraction to lift a knee and slam
it into the creature’s chest. The beast howled and gnashed at Kered’s throat,
but didn’t relinquish its brutal grip on his arms.

Kered’s arm muscles bulged against his sleeves with the
effort he used to hold the creature off. The hooked teeth slashed and Maggie
knew they could sever arteries. She turned and ran back to the fire. She ripped
Kered’s pack open and drew out the game gun. She sped back to the entrance,
skidding on the smooth, rocky floor. The creature raised a clawed back foot and
slammed it into Kered’s groin.

She thumbed the blue button.

A scent, like that of an iron left on too long, reached
Maggie’s nostrils as the beast fell in a heap on Kered’s chest.

Maggie held the pistol before her as she warily approached
Kered, who lay writhing beneath the stunned beast. She prodded the creature and
then wiped her hand on her skirt, for it came away oily. She raised her foot
and used all her strength to heave the beast off Kered’s body. It fell over the
cliff face. When she saw the blood soaking Kered’s sleeve, she did not spare a
thought for its fate.

Joe and Jason, Maggie’s two older brothers, had been hit in
the crotch a few times, so Maggie recognized the expression on Kered’s face.
She stood back and let him breathe. When he’d vomited up what little he’d
eaten, she approached. Placing a hand on his arm, she examined his wounds
through the torn shirt. “This looks nasty. When you can walk, let’s tend it.”

Kered growled and let off a string of curses, rolling to his
knees. He knelt there for a moment, a hand pressed to his stomach. Maggie gave
him a wide berth when he staggered to his feet, a stricken expression on his
face.

At their campsite, he dropped to one knee, ignoring her.
From the objects spilled from his pack, he lifted a small leather pouch. “Here.
Water. Make a paste.” His breath still hitched in his chest.

Maggie nodded and silently did as he directed. Lacking a
bowl and an instrument to stir, she cupped her palm and sprinkled in a little
of the powder from the pouch. She wasn’t happy with the cleanliness of her
hands, but the water could not be wasted. The gourd was almost empty. Maggie
dripped some water into the gray powder and used a fingertip to mix a paste.
Its pungent odor reminded her of cactus at dawn after a summer storm.

Kered stood up and lifted his shirt over his head. He tossed
it to the floor and then sat gingerly at Maggie’s side. Carefully, she used a
bandage to wipe the blood from the wounds. Ignoring Kered’s half-naked body
made the effort a trial. He was all bronze skin stretched over well-defined
muscles. Buffed to the max, she thought. A workout king, but not overdone with
useless, bulky muscles. No, he was perfect. The hair on his chest rose from a
narrow swath at his waistband and spread in dark wings across his massive
chest. As she applied the salve, his chest muscles bunched and flexed.

“I guess it’s a little late to say this, but I think these
need stitching.”

“Later.” Kered gripped Maggie’s wrist. “You saved my life. I
thank you.”

“What was that thing?”

“One of the night creatures. It is unlike me to fall asleep.
I failed in my duty to protect you.”

Maggie looked at his face. Anguish deepened the lines edging
his mouth and creasing his forehead. “You’re exhausted, Ker. Did you sleep much
last night?”

He looked away. “I have not slept in five days except at
Nilrem’s hut.”

“Five days!” Maggie gasped. “You’ll be sick. The body isn’t
meant to go so long without sleep.”

“Is it not?” He raised a dark brow.

“No, it’s not. Now lie down. I’ll keep watch while you
sleep.”

“Maggie. We must go. Now.”

“What is the point in making this trek to the sacred pool if
you arrive so weak that you can’t find this blasted knife?”

“Sword. We seek a sword.” Kered fell back onto the stone
floor and stared up at the rocky ceiling. The blaze of the red sun cast a
bloody gleam on his bronzed torso. “I must find the sword—the sword of Leoh’s
grandfather.”

Maggie leaned over him, fussing at his wound, tying the
bandages a second time, more neatly now that her hands were steadier. She
couldn’t resist tucking a few loose strands of his hair back behind his ear.
“So much for brushing this mangy mess,” she teased.

Kered captured her hand. “You saved my life. I know few slaves
who would lift a hand to save their master, let alone a stranger. Your master
must have inspired great loyalty in you. I am honored to reap the benefit.”

“I saved your life because I had the means.” He was so
close, his hand so warm. He drew her near and she had to place a palm on his
chest to prevent herself from falling over him.

“Your master. Did he teach you to use the weapon?”

Kered’s turquoise eyes darkened to the color of a tropical
sea. Maggie gulped. Beneath her palm his skin was warm, the hair on his chest
soft, his nipple a tight point against her fingertips. Fighting an urge to
stroke it, she curled her fingers into her palm.

“It’s called shooting and my father taught me. In a land not
unlike this. He would set out bottles as targets. I beat my brothers, Joe and
Jason, every time.”

“Father? Brothers? Joe? Jason?” Kered placed his palm over
her hand, pressing it against him.

“Yes. I have two brothers. They’re thirty-one and
twenty-seven. I’m twenty-five.” Maggie ground to a halt. He drew her closer,
their lips inches apart.

“Slaves have no families.” His warm breath bathed her face.
His heart thumped slowly beneath her palm.

“Huh?’’ Maggie lost her train of thought, closed her eyes,
and waited as if in suspended animation for what she knew was coming.

His lips were dry and warm. They whispered across hers,
brushing lightly in a gentle caress. Maggie sighed. Kered made a low sound in
his throat.

Maggie opened her eyes. Kered’s eyes drifted closed,
depriving her of those gorgeous turquoise pools. She puckered up for another
foray into the sensual realm of Kered’s mouth when an unmistakable noise issued
from his throat.

Snoring!

Maggie gently shifted out of his hold, easing her fingers
from his grasp. She draped his cloak over him. He couldn’t possibly be
comfortable lying bare-backed on a stone floor, but he looked so peaceful, she
didn’t dare wake him.

Questing warriors needed their beauty sleep.

Fair maidens needed questing warriors at full strength to
battle slobbering night creatures and grimy Wartmen. Maggie hoisted the game
gun in her hand and crept to the edge of the cave’s entrance and peered over,
then drew quickly back into the shadows.

Three other beasts were feasting on the one lying supine at
the cliff’s base. Maggie edged from the entrance, hoping they’d not seen her.
Obviously they could climb as well as Kered, and she didn’t want to battle
three of them. She had no idea how long the gun’s charge lasted. It was a
miracle it worked here—wherever
here
might be—anyway.

Maggie worried that hidden entrances to the cave made them
vulnerable to other carnivorous beasts, so she built up the fire and settled at
the opening to their small chamber, the gun held loose and ready in her hand.
She kept a silent vigil, rising only to relieve herself and to fetch Kered’s
shirt for mending. Kered slept the sleep of the dead, never stirring for what
seemed hours. Occasionally he groaned or snored, but he never moved.

Maggie rationed herself to staring at him only once each
hour. Glad she’d covered him, she shivered at her post. Better cold than
torturing herself with the view.

She glanced over her shoulder every few minutes for danger.
As night fell again, seeping from red to purple shadows, she kept her eye on
the movement of the unfamiliar stars through the ceiling aperture.

There was little point in denying her reality. She was the
Shadow Woman in the
Tolemac Wars
poster. Her black hair, her black gown,
her bare arms all fit. She was fated to look after the warrior.

After all, Gwen had told her to defend his back. And she
would. For during the night she’d dreamt a terrible dream, only to awaken to
find Kered under attack.

In her dream, however, it was not some creature who
threatened him. No, in her nightmare, Kered knelt naked in opulent
surroundings. All the important male parts were foggy and indistinct, but the
sensations were sharp and clear. Just as she reached for him in the dream, he
was snatched from her arms. Her next memory was the stench of blood. Kered’s
head hung forward, his chin on his chest, blood dripping from his forehead, his
arms, and his chest. The bright red blood ran in narrow rivulets down his
beautiful body and pooled at his knees.

In her dream, she had raised the game gun and defended him.
There was no remorse in her dream, no regret. Kered’s blood slicked the hands
that held the gun. The finger that moved with swift assurance to the buttons
was as red as the button selected. Whoever hurt him deserved death. His face
was hidden, this enemy of Kered’s, but in her dream, Maggie had killed him.

Maggie shivered. She would never forget the dream.

Her Navajo grandmother would tell her the dream held
meaning.

Maggie agreed.

She must watch over him.

Kered swam to consciousness, groggy from induced visions of
battle, starvation, and pain. “Nilrem’s knees! How long have I slept?”

“The moons are rising.” Maggie pointed overhead.

He settled back on his haunches and stared at her. She sat
like a guard on duty and a curious sense of unease took hold that he had
surrendered himself to a vulnerable sleep state.

“You have remained thusly? Watching?”

“Yes. Some more of those things were down at the cliff base
eating their friend, so I could hardly go shopping, could I?”

“Shopping? What is shopping?”

Maggie laughed as if she knew something he did not. “Shopping
is a useless pastime—”

“Like attaining the fourth level of awareness is to slaves?”
he interrupted, piqued by her humor.

“Grumpy, aren’t we, when we wake up!” Maggie lifted Kered’s
shirt from her lap. “I stitched the tear. I’m not much of a seamstress, but it
helped pass the time.”

He inspected the work. The stitches were clumsy and crooked.
A Tolemac child could do better. Yet the fact that she had done the work
without an order touched him. “Thank you. It seems I am destined to break all
the laws of slavery, thanking a slave three times in one sun rising.”

“Don’t bust a gut over it.” Maggie snatched her hand away.
“Now sit down and let’s see your wounds.”

Kered submitted to Maggie’s treatment. He willed himself not
to wince as she loosened the bandage crusted to the long slashes.

She gasped. “I can’t believe it. This looks almost healed.”

He met her eyes. “The herbal is most effective.”

She applied fresh bandages and just before he moved away,
she placed her hand on his chest.

Kered froze. The gentle touch of her hand on him and his
continued fatigue almost made him tremble.

“What’s this?” she asked, her finger stroking over the
birthmark that lay hidden in his chest hair.

He shook off her hand and pulled his shirt over his head,
drawing the laces tight. “‘Tis nothing.”

She drew his cloak about her shoulders. Protecting herself
from more than cold, he thought, when she rubbed her arms briskly with her
hands.

His groin throbbed. He had ceased thinking the ache resulted
from the creature’s assault and now admitted it was directly related to kissing
a pleasure slave. After all, if she was twenty-five conjunctions, she had been
giving pleasure for ten of them.

Kered gulped, imagining her skill after ten conjunctions of
practice. With predictability, his manhood stirred. Perhaps if he concentrated
on repeating the names of his adopted ancestors back to the dawn of time, he
could control the ache, just as his awareness master had taught him. But, if he
was honest with himself, he was bored with the recitation and happy in a most
base manner with his response to the slave.

He frowned. Maggie’s wildflower scent tantalized him now,
just as it had when he’d carried her in his arms to Nilrem’s hut. He had
promised her that when the quest was ended, he would return her to Nilrem’s
mountain. Perhaps by then, she would not want to go. A warmth settled in his
chest at the thought. Another thought in­truded, driving out the tantalizing
warmth.

Lifemating
.

Shouldering his pack, Kered took Maggie’s small hand, and
led her along the winding path to the cave entrance. When the quest ended he
would have her. That is,
if
her master had not claimed her and
if
he had not lifemated. For a moment Kered contemplated the intricacies of
claiming a slave without papers. Registering her would be fraught with
difficulties.

Kered turned and faced Maggie. She was frowning at the gun
in her hand. “Perhaps that should be in my pack?” he suggested.

“I suppose. I was just worrying about how long it will last.
There’s no way to recharge it.”