Gift of the Goddess (16 page)

And that was pleasing, because he wanted to be able to see what he was doing.

He stared into the shadowy distance. Home was there, beyond the barrier of the mountains and the Sitariat-Gillen Tableland. His ranch, where the rasa grass blew silver before the wind and the vranee grazed down to the river. He missed Djalen the cook’s

81 Denise Rossetti

noodlecakes, he missed the bed he’d had specially made to accommodate his length. It was broad enough to fit three. He could imagine lying there blissfully sated, comfortably tangled with Anje and Trey. Brin sighed. There could be no doubt he was growing old.

Anje roused as the vranee splashed through a shallow stream. She was a good sleeper, his sweet warrior. One soft cheek was creased, her eyes dazed. She looked young and vulnerable, as though she needed petting with a gentle hand.

The illusion lasted until she focused on him. She sat up, pursed her lips and blew him a mocking kiss. Almost purring with anticipation, Brin smiled calmly back, delighted when she froze, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Are you well rested, scout?” he enquired politely.

“Well enough.”

He showed his teeth. “Excellent.”

He let her stew.

The caves were as he remembered, with a busy stream chuckling over a rocky bed thirty paces away. Ideal.

In the almost dusk, he circled the area, setting a double ring of wards with exquisite attention to detail. Tonight he would be concentrating on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain. He could not afford to divide his attention.

By the time he returned to the cave, Trey had hobbled the vranee and started supper. He looked up, the firelight kissing his hair like a lover. “All done?”

Brin grunted an affirmative. “Yes. Here.” He tossed a bunch of reddish stalks at Trey. They had thick, white bulbous stems. “I found a stand of trintri.”

Trey brightened. Trintri had a sweet, nutty flavor. They’d go well with fareng.

Brin looked around. “Where’s Anje?”

“Said she wanted to wash. I volunteered to scrub her back, but—” He made a face.

“She’ll keep. Did you find enough bracken for bedding?”

Their eyes met in perfect understanding and Trey grinned broadly.

“Don’t look so thrilled,” said Brin grimly. “I’m none too pleased with you.”

Trey’s expression turned devilish. “Can’t win them all,” he said.

Brin dropped his voice to a sibilant rumble. “But I intend to.” Trey’s knuckles whitened on the trintri stalks. “Go get your oldest shirt.”

“What for?”

“Do it.”

A flush so delicate it could have been a girl’s stained Trey’s cheek, but he rose and disappeared into the depths of the cave without a word. When he returned, he had a balled-up garment in his fist. He thrust it at Brin.

“No.” The shaman stopped him with a growl. “Tear it up. I want strips long enough to use as ties.”

82 Gift of the Goddess

Trey’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips and the breath clogged in Brin’s throat. “How many?” Trey husked.

Brin smiled and knew it was an evil expression. Lufra, he
was
evil! “Eight,” he said, for the simple pleasure of watching Trey think about it.

Trey’s lashes swept down and his fingers tightened on the fabric. Brin turned and walked away before the other man could notice the tremor in his hands. Standing on the shallow ledge before the cave, he dragged in greedy lungfuls of the crisp air. If he didn’t keep an iron grip on his control, he’d betray himself, sacrificing his honor and self-respect. Absently, he rubbed at his throat, his skin felt as though it burned.

Behind him, cloth ripped in a long, rasping tear that shivered along his nerves in a brutal caress. Trey pushed him to the brink simply by existing. Anje was his goddess-sent match. How easily he could lose himself in them!

If he took care not to let Trey touch him this time, if he could bear to cause Anje pain to give her pleasure… Ah Lufra, but he wanted to, he wanted to do those things! Within him, self-loathing battled with dark desire.

Another rip, the sound of Trey’s grunt as a seam resisted. Brin squared his shoulders.

In the Great Rite, he and Anje would be drugged and anointed with aphrodisiacs and stimulated to screaming point by teams of shamans and priestesses. They had skills his poor sweet warrior had never dreamed of and their purpose would be to drive her out of her mind with lust.

Literally.

His balls cramped as he imagined her lithe, muscular body stretched and bound on the sacred bed of Lufra, tongues and fingers and cocks all over her, while she begged and screamed and pleaded for relief.

But if she resisted, if she fought too hard, refused his help, his support, she would shatter. Instead of leaping from her body, rising to Lufra in glory, her soul would implode. Fracture and die.

And if she didn’t take his soul with her when she went, he knew he’d wish she had.

Tonight, he had to teach her, had to use his body and Trey’s as the instruments of her education, her submission. The only way for her to learn was through experience.

And in the process, he had somehow to keep from betraying Trey’s trust. He snorted. He was a fine one to talk of trust! One day soon, Trey would grow up and recognize his infatuation for what it was. Though a part of him mourned, Brin knew he would rather die than give the younger man something to soil the memory of their friendship.

So all he had to do was mete out enough dark pleasure to earn his sweet warrior’s trust, meanwhile ensuring Trey couldn’t touch him.

Simplicity itself.

Without turning his head, he said, “Go shave, Trey. I don’t want you to mark her.”

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“Why?”

A dark curl of amusement lit Brin’s mood. Trey would stare death in the eye and ask why. He turned. The younger man stood a yard away, firelight glinting on the light golden stubble on his chin.

“Because I’ll be doing all the marking necessary.”

Trey’s brow quirked and he salaamed. “Yes, mighty shaman.”

That startled a laugh out of him. As Trey passed, he swatted him hard on one delectable cheek.

“Bastard,” said Trey amiably but he didn’t stop.

Shaken, Brin stared after him. His palm tingled with the curved imprint of a muscular buttock.

So much for his fine resolutions!

He raised his voice. “Send Anje up.”

“I don’t need a keeper.”

His head jerked around. She stood a few paces away, poised on the balls of her feet, watching him, her eyes unreadable. Gods, she must be a superb scout! How much had she heard?

She leaned over the pot bubbling on the fire and sniffed. “This dinner?”

Brin grunted assent, bemused by her athletic grace, the fine curve of her ass as she hunkered down. His gaze sharpened. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

In two strides, he’d grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “There’s blood on your neck. Get in here.” He hustled her down the long passage and into the dark cave. “Don’t move from that spot.”

She sighed theatrically, but stayed where he’d put her.

Fumbling for his tinder box, he lit the traveling lantern on the camp table and trimmed the wick. When he turned, she was standing with a hand on her hip, an ironic lift to her straight, dark brows.

With a rumble of irritation, Brin pushed her jaw up so he could see. His stomach turned over and he hissed between his teeth. “Those are cuts.”

Her eyes fell, the lashes lying like fans on her cheek.

“I thought I felt something.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You tried to cut the torque off, didn’t you?”

Her mouth compressed into a stubborn line.

“
Didn’t you
?”

She glared. “What did you expect?”

84 Gift of the Goddess

“Don’t try it again.” Brin unbuckled the clasp of his saddlebag and fished out his small medical kit. “Put your head up.” Carefully he dabbed the shallow cuts with the liquid from a small vial.

Anje inhaled sharply. “What the Mother is that? It stings like a bitch.”

“Serves you right,” he said without sympathy. “It’s a cleansing potion.”

He released her and returned the vial to the kit. As he did so, he caught sight of a jar of soothing balm. Everything within him went still and hungry. Slowly, he drew it out and placed it on the table near the heat of the lamp so it would warm.

Anje’s eyes shifted to it. Gradually, her pupils dilated and she paled beneath her honey gold tan. The wicked desire inside Brin danced with glee and anticipation.

Blandly, he said, “We should eat.”

There was something darkly addictive about wide eyes and trembling lips.

“It’s ready.” Trey emerged from the passage with a bowl of steaming stew in each hand. “We’ve only got two bowls, Anje. Sorry.”

“She can share with me. Trey, douse the fire and bring the hot water.” He waited a beat and added, “And that shirt.”

Trey’s eyes glittered. “Right.” As he placed the bowls on the table, he noticed the jar of balm. He stood motionless, his throat moving as he swallowed. Then he turned and darted out of the cave.

Brin didn’t speak. The silence dragged out. He watched Anje’s eyes flick away from his. Her breasts rose and fell, quivering with the rapidity of her breathing. He smiled inwardly when her gaze snagged on the deep heap of fragrant bracken with their bedding spread over it. Now she knew she wasn’t sleeping alone tonight.

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you, scout?” he asked silkily. “And you had no problem persuading Trey to help you out.” His mouth quirked. “Now you have it. Tell me what you want.”

Her violet eyes fixed on his. To him, her face was so expressive, he could watch as she drew anger around her like armor. When she made her decision, she used it to fuel her courage.

Her jaw firmed and she set her hands on her hips. “You know what I want.”

Brin folded his legs and dropped to the bedding. He leaned back against the wall and propped one elbow on his bent knee. “No,” he said, “I won’t know unless you tell me.”

A spark flared in her amethyst stare. “I want to leave you. Tomorrow. But tonight, I want…” She swallowed and Brin raised a gentle brow.

“I want you…” Her breath huffed out as Trey skidded to a halt, a large stoppered gourd in one hand, a bunch of fabric wadded in the other.

“Go on.” It was the softest whisper he could produce, the one he used to coax nervous vranee.

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“Both of you… What we did last night…” The words trailed off into a tingling silence.

“Are you sure, Anje? Both of us?”

She stood her ground, Lufra bless her. “I just said so, didn’t I?”

Ruthlessly, he quelled the tenderness. There was no time for that now. Instead, he stared deeply into her eyes and showed her the roar of his hunger, the depth of his greed. “One at a time? Or together?”

Trey set the heavy gourd down with a thunk. “Stop it, Brin.” His voice was steady and cold. “Leave her be.”

Never in all their years together had he heard that tone from Trey. Brin covered his reaction by resting his head against the wall and studying his young friend through half-closed eyes. He supposed he should be hurt, jealous even. Trey had slipped his arm around Anje’s waist and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shining with youth and defiance. But instead, he had to fight an almost overpowering urge to leap his feet and pull them into his arms and babble Lufra knew what nonsense. That he never wanted them to leave him, that he’d do anything,
anything
if they’d stay, if they’d warm his bed forever.

He inhaled deeply. “You want me to torture you in her place?”

Trey’s gaze was level. “If that’s what it takes.”

Brin had to let his lashes fall, lest the other man see the goddess flame blazing in his eyes. After a moment’s struggle, he had himself under control. “I’ll take care of her, Trey. I promise on my honor, no more than she can take.”

Trey stared so hard, Brin felt the back of his skull sizzle. Finally, the younger man gave a curt nod and stepped back.

Brin wanted to sag with relief. Instead, he patted the space next to him. “We should eat. Come and sit, scout.”

Warily, she picked her way across the cave and sank down next to him. Brin held out a hand and Trey slipped a tie into it.

In a single, swift move, he grasped both her wrists and bound them together.

An outraged gasp and she was twisting in his grip, bucking like a wild vran. “Take her—
Lufra!
—feet, Trey!”

After a brisk five minutes, Brin had her sitting sideways in his lap, rigid with fury. Trey leaned panting against the wall, rubbing his thigh and grinning.

“What
is
it with you?” she hissed. “Arrogant, stupid—”

“I know.” Brin ran his forefinger down her neck and over the thunder of her pulse. He pressed his lips to the spot. “But I can smell you, scout. Those trews must be soaked through. Shall we check?”