Gift of the Goddess (10 page)

Why that should be so starkly thrilling she couldn’t fathom, but it was, and her own reaction made her want to rend and tear.

49 Denise Rossetti

Anje fixed her eyes on the glittering arch of stars as she slid into the bag and stretched out. She’d slept alone in the wilds times without counting. Why should tonight be any different?

Holy Mother, have mercy on me. Show me the way.

As she finally drifted off, she put a hand out to touch his skin, jerking it back with a curse when she remembered he was a hundred paces away.

It was a curious dream, fragmentary, yet vivid. The Mother sat in a meadow of wildflowers, Her back against the broad trunk of a majestic tree. As Anje crouched at Her feet, She towered above, her glowing coronet of golden-brown braids brushing the highest branches.

In the dream, Anje had the temerity to touch the hem of Her garment, to slide the warm, silken fabric between her fingers. She couldn’t speak, tears of awe trembled on her lashes. With every fiber of her being, she longed to climb into that great lap and take sanctuary in the Mother’s arms. But she didn’t dare.

The Mother looked down, down, and Her round, gentle face creased in a smile. “
Child
?” It was a vast whisper, sweeping tenderly over Anje’s soul, compelling her to speak.

“Holy Mother, what shall I do?” she pleaded.

“
Do? Sweet child, you
—”

The Mother looked up as a dark shadow swept over the meadow. The shape of an enormous wing passed over Her spread skirts. Still smiling, She tilted Her chin to watch the creature’s flight.

But by the time Anje found the courage to follow Her gaze, it had gone.

The Mother put a finger to Her lips. “
Sshh,”
She murmured, with a roguish twinkle. “
Don’t tell
.”

She faded away. Anje frowned in her sleep and a tear slipped over her cheek. Rolling over, she dreamed no more.

Not long after dawn, she woke knowing she was no longer alone. Feigning sleep, she clenched her fingers around the hilt of her knife.

“I know you’re awake, scout.”

Scowling, she opened one eye to see Brin’s strong white teeth tearing the flesh off a bunrat leg. She snapped upright. “Hey! That’s mine!”

Unperturbed, he said, “I left you one. You can eat it on the way.” He looked relaxed and untroubled, his hair tied back, dressed in his leather trews and a sleeveless hunting vest with many pockets. It left the beautiful, biteable line of his arms bare, revealed an enticing slice of tawny skin on his chest.

Anje averted her eyes. “The way where?”

“Go get washed.” He nudged her thigh gently with the toe of one big boot. “We’re going hunting.”

50 Gift of the Goddess

Her mouth fell open. Hunting? So he wasn’t going to swing her up in his arms and kiss her senseless and give her to Trey to—

Hunting. Alone with the shaman. She glanced at him sidelong. For all his size, he was as neat as a cat in his movements, one of the huge jungle cats of legend. It would take a tree branch to knock him out. Or a boulder. And she didn’t want to kill him. But it wasn’t as though she had a lot of choice.

“Fine.” She got moving.

But when Brin removed the hobbles from the huge turquoise vran and a smaller packbeast, she balked. “You ride, Feolin, I’ll keep up on my own two feet. A warrior of the Mother doesn’t—”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He kicked the brown vran gently in the back of the knee and it knelt. “Up you go.” Setting both hands about her waist, he lifted her on to the back of the pack-vran before she could do more than let out a startled squawk. “Hold on to the harness.” As he wrapped her nerveless fingers around the leather strap, the animal turned its head and lipped at his hair with its beaky mouth. Brin sank his fingers into the feather tufts at the base of its horns and scratched. The vran gave a prolonged hiss of pleasure.

But the second beast, the monstrous stallion, objected, bending to shove its head under his arm, nearly eviscerating him with its longest horn. Anje gasped, but Brin pushed it summarily aside. “Wait your turn, Twink, you stupid beast.”

Sunlight struck blue-green gleams off the plumage of its massive shoulder, as high as Brin’s head. A clawed hoof, big as a dinner plate, stamped impatiently.

“
Twink
?”

The shaman swung into the saddle. “It’s what his stable maid calls him. He’s got a pedigree name as long as your arm, but old Brownie runs rings around him in the brains department. Looks aren’t everything.” He picked up the lead rope and the vranee walked sedately out of the camp.

Anje clutched at the harness, her knuckles white. Brownie might be smaller than Twink, but she felt an alarmingly long way off the ground, perched astride the broad back. The saddle was nothing more than a padded blanket.

“Dig your toes into his ribs,” said Brin. “You won’t hurt him.”

She discovered the ridges of Brownie’s ribs, hidden under his mud colored feathers, and braced her boots there. The beast plodded on and she began to feel more secure.

“Are all the vranee yours?” she asked.

“The black belongs to Trey. But I bred the whole pod.”

“You breed vranee?”

“I can’t be offering to the Goddess every moment of every day.” One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “No matter how tempting the prospect might be. So I breed vranee. Among other things.”

51 Denise Rossetti

Anje bit her lip. What other things? The more she knew of Brin, the more involved she would become. She fought a brisk internal battle with her curiosity and won.

Changing the subject, she asked, “Where’s Trey?”

Brin cut her a sidelong glance. “Miss him?”

“Of course not, I just wondered. You seem to do everything together.” Her tone was pointed.

He ducked his head to avoid a hanging branch as they entered a forest trail. Twink stepped ahead and Brownie followed, drawn by the lead rope tucked under Brin’s thigh. “Not always,” he said calmly and a tremor rippled through her belly.

His body swayed with the swinging gait of the big vran, all supple grace and absolute confidence. The neatness of his waist contrasted with the breadth of his shoulders made her palms itch. If she were seated close behind, she’d be able to slip her arms around him, rest her cheek on his back, hear the soothing rhythm of his heart.

Five minutes of staring as the leaf shadows slid over his body like water made her so jittery she felt impelled to break the silence. “Where are we going?”

He half turned in the saddle. “There’s a fareng nesting ground, about two hours away. We need fresh meat.”

That would be right. Two healthy males, one of them decidedly oversize, would take a power of feeding. Fareng lizards were sweet eating, though their flesh was hard won. Their intelligence coupled with flexible, spiked tails made them a formidable quarry.

Somewhat cheered at the prospect of vigorous action, Anje fixed her gaze on Brin’s back and surrendered to the rhythm of Brownie’s sure-footed gait. The woods were not dense, sunlight penetrated the trail, edging the gray-green of the foliage with a bright, buttery light. The odd, musty smell of vranee plumage mixed pleasantly with the dry odor of the forest litter kicked up by the broad hooves.

It was a good half hour before she roused from her daze sufficiently to recognize two startling facts. One, she was…content…at peace in a way she’d rarely experienced. That was odd enough, but what shocked her most deeply was that she’d abandoned her customary alertness for a pleasant reverie. She wasn’t worthy to be a scout! Danger could have pounced at any time.

Though… Her glance fell on Brownie’s lead rope, secure in Brin’s grasp. Holy Mother, she’d abrogated her responsibility to the Feolin!

Drawing herself upright, she scanned her surroundings with a bright, suspicious gaze. They were climbing a long, steady incline, the trees opening out. “How much further?” she called. Gods, she was numb! Surreptitiously, she flexed her thighs, squeezed her buttocks.

Brin tugged on the rope until Brownie paced next to his huge stablemate. “Not much more,” he said, so cheerfully she knew he lied. “Are you sore?” He rolled a dark eye at her. “Come up here with me and I’ll take your mind off it.”

52 Gift of the Goddess

When she cast him a cutting glance, he rumbled with amusement.

Anje said the first thing that came into her head. “What’s it like being a shaman?”

That sobered him. He took a moment to answer, picking his words with care. “Difficult. Humbling.” He paused. “Exhilarating.”

“I’ll bet,” she hissed, thinking of Brin stroking one priestess after another to climax. Twelve! Holy Mother!

Something vicious twisted inside her. “You’re not very discriminating are you? How many women do you think you’ve had?”

His face shuttered. He shrugged. “I lost count of the offerings years ago.”

The urge to hurt drove her on, made her reckless. “And men?”

Brin drew the vranee to a stop and stared down at her from Twink’s back, darkly intimidating. His jaw was set, his shoulders rigid with tension. “Such offerings are acceptable to Lufra, don’t assume otherwise.” He rummaged in a saddlebag and tossed her a package wrapped in broad leaves. “Here, eat your bunrat.”

She snagged it out of the air. “Answer the question.”

He stared straight ahead. “No, Anje, no men.”

“I can’t imagine why not.” She raised a brow. “Given that you’ll fuck anything that moves.”

At that, he turned his head to stare at her in silence, until she had to fight the need to look away. An ember flickered in his hard eyes and was gone. “You insult me, Anje.” He nudged Twink back into motion. “It’s not a good idea.”

The last part of the trip was accomplished at a trot that had Anje rocking in the saddle, hanging on to her harness for grim death. She seethed with dark satisfaction. She’d succeeded in drawing blood without the use of a weapon.

By the time they came to halt in a clearing, she was certain all her teeth were loose. Brin slid down gracefully and made Brownie kneel. “We’ll go on foot from here.”

Anje clambered off the vran and found her legs would no longer support her. Gritting her teeth, she straightened painfully, fingers sunk in Brownie’s feathers.

Brin huffed out an impatient breath. “For Lufra’s sake, you foolish woman, why didn’t you say something? How bad is it?”

He ran his hands over her flanks as he spoke, brow furrowed. “Is that better?” He flexed strong fingers in the muscles of her thighs, kneaded her buttocks.

Anje flinched, but nodded, stifling a sigh. It was uncanny, the way he hit the right spots.

His touch slowed, became a caress. “Gods, how can you be so soft? I know you’re made of muscle.” He fitted his palms to the curve of her ass and drew her into his body. Bending his dark head, he nibbled down the side of her throat.

Tiny shocks ran through her flesh, firming her breasts, making her spine tingle.

“Mmm.” His tongue wet the throb of her pulse. “Scout?”

53 Denise Rossetti

“What?” she snapped, turning her head away.

“You’ll do as I tell you today.”

She stiffened. “I’ve hunted fareng before.”

“Nonetheless.” He loomed over her. “We’ll be working as a team. Put a foot wrong and you’ll pay.”

Mother, he was tying her in knots! She wet her lips and saw his nostrils flare. “Pay? How?”

Brin cradled her cheeks in his calloused palms, but he took a step back, giving her space to breathe. “I’d never hurt you, Anje. Or let you come to harm. Do you believe that?”

He waited without any sign of impatience ‘til she nodded. No, he’d never hurt her physically, but there were so many other ways to wound.

“Ah, you’re a wicked, wicked woman.” Brin shook his head in sorrow, but now his eyes danced. “I may have to punish you regardless.”

Then he backed her into a tree and kissed her mouth ‘til the curses died in her throat and her knees turned to water.

54 Gift of the Goddess

Chapter Eight

Forgive me, brother, for I have need of your death. Go in peace to the gods, and tell them all is as it should be on this earth.

Feolin prayer for the prey. (trad)

The fareng had found the ideal site, a streambed in a narrow valley choked with boulders and tangler ferns. Brin selected a pair near the water, the female sprawled on the mounded nest, dozing in a shaft of sunlight. The striations of purple and coral on her leathery skin glowed and her tail switched slowly back and forth, the lethal spikes tipped with a tarry, poisonous secretion.

To Anje’s surprise, she and Brin combined as though they’d hunted together all their lives. She let him take the lead, since it seemed so important to his masculine pride. At his gesture, she worked her way to the downwind side of the nest, placing her feet with the utmost care, noting the tracks of dozens of beasts. She kept a wary eye on the tree canopy. Fareng mated for life. Where was the male?