Gift of the Goddess (5 page)

It leaped.

So did Brin’s pulse.

“Sorry,” murmured Trey. His fingers closed, gave a quick, soothing squeeze and released.

Brin cleared his throat. When he shot a glance at Trey, his young friend was frowning at the torques. Imagination, nothing more. He let go the breath he was holding and disciplined himself to put the shameful lick of heat aside.

“I have a bad feeling,” said Trey, “but I’m going to ask anyway.” He gestured at the torques. “What are they for?”

“Can you think of a better way of keeping an experienced scout somewhere she doesn’t want to be? We have to sleep after all.”

Trey’s beautiful eyes flew to his. They looked wide and golden in the clear light that spilled into the tent. “But Brin—”

Brin shrugged. “If Lufra refuses, it’s my risk. Will you help me?”

Trey sat back on his heels and his lips firmed. “No, I don’t think so.” He stood abruptly and stalked out.

Brin stared after him.

Perhaps he was jealous. Ay, that could be it. By Lufra, Trey certainly had more to offer a woman. He was the son of Feolin’s Queen;
his
Bond torques were encased in gold filigree, dotted with fire opals. And he was young, with all the energy and enthusiasm of youth. His life was still before him.

Brin frowned down at his thick wrists and broad palms. He was a blacksmith’s son, not a prince. All he had was generations of his family’s love, in hair every shade of black, brown and gray, braided together and finished with a plain silver twist. It was simple enough, but the power of it was formidable. It would hold her.

It had to, if he was to save his people.

He fetched his dagger and crouched to cut a lock of her shining black hair from underneath, where it wouldn’t show. The nape of her neck was tender, pale. Leaning forward, he drew the warm scent of her into his lungs.

Anje snuffled in her sleep.

He ran the lock through his fingers. It was so smooth and slippery, he had to concentrate hard to plait it into the torques, together with strands of his own. When the task was complete, he slipped the larger collar around his neck, the smaller around hers. Placing a hand on each, he pressed the silver clasps closed between finger and thumb. It wasn’t orthodox by temple standards, but he didn’t have much time.

Kneeling, he bowed his head and slowed his breathing, ‘til all he could hear was the steady throb of the blood in his body. Deep inside, he formed an image of the living

24 Gift of the Goddess

flame that was Lufra. Humbly, he laid his soul bare before Her, all that he was, and begged Her blessing.

The seconds passed excruciatingly slowly.
Divine Mistress, don’t turn Your loving face from me. Not now, when I’m so close. I beg You
.

He sagged with relief when Her heat answered his call. It started at the base of his spine and spread, licking his buttocks and genitals, warming his belly and cradling his heart. Lufra’s song vibrated deep in his throat; the silver melted under his fingers, flowed, folded and joined.

It was done. For good or ill, it was done.

“What are you doing?”

Anje’s narrowed eyes were cold as amethyst and as hard. She put a hand to her torque and tugged. “What’s this?”

How long had she been awake? It took him a moment to shake free of Lufra’s warm embrace. He blinked once, slowly. “A torque. To keep you with us.”

Anje pulled harder, fingers fumbling for a catch. They trembled. “Magic?”

Her struggles were leaving a pattern of fine red lines on the clear skin of her throat. Brin leaned forward and laid his big hand over hers, stilling it. He made his tone deep and soothing. “It’s shaman’s magic, Anje. But I swear I mean you no harm by it.” He held her gaze. “On my life, I swear.”

“What does it do?”

“Walk away and find out.” Brin smiled thinly. “It has a range of about a hundred paces.”

All the animation smoothed from her face. It was a fair effort at concealment. Others might find her hard to read, but to him, her thoughts showed clearly in those violet eyes. He could see the anger there, the fear and confusion, but also a glimmer of arousal, a white-hot ember. She was fighting not to drop her gaze below his chin. Poor sweet warrior, they’d stripped her of a measure of self-control yesterday and she’d learned to doubt herself. And they were going to do it again and again.

As many times as it took to ready her for the Great Rite in the temple of Lufra.

Though his soul ached for her pain, he could hardly wait to begin again. But she had to come out of it alive and heart-whole. He’d make sure she did.

Even if he didn’t.

Anje uncoiled long, supple limbs and rose. Her breasts trembled with each shallow breath and Brin let his insolent gaze wander. His palms itched.

As she stalked past, he scooped up a shirt and tossed it to her. Without pausing, she snagged it in midair and left the tent, head held high.

Anje pulled the shirt on over her head as she emerged into the sunlight. It was Trey’s. Funny, she could tell immediately by the light masculine scent that clung to it. Brin smelled darker, spicier.

25 Denise Rossetti

Huffing with irritation, she strode past the pool. Her boots sat in the sun, stuffed with grass to hold their shape as they dried. Tugging them on, she was too thankful to spurn the thoughtfulness. Because she was going to run, and run. And run.

She wasn’t a fool. Brin made Deklan look like a fumbling boy and as for Trey… There was something about him, a bravado and a vulnerability, that made her mouth water.

So she was leaving, as fast and as silently as possible. And once she’d completed her duty and delivered the map, she’d track them down, one at a time, and take them apart.

On her own terms.

She increased her pace up the slope until she was almost running. Brin, the arrogant fool, would allow her enough time to relieve herself and wash. She’d retrieve her pack from its hiding place on the ridge and fade into the forest.

Magic torques! She snorted as she shoved the undergrowth aside, snatching up her pack to check on the map. Turning to survey the peaceful camp one last time, she backed away down a forest path.

Safe. The breath whistled out between her teeth and her stride lengthened.

A brisk five minutes later, she came out on the far side of the camp. Nothing moved in the sun, save the pod of grazing vranee.

Muttering an oath, she plunged back into the trees. She must have got turned around somehow. Embarrassing for a scout, but it happened sometimes.

After half an hour of effort, she leaned against the trunk of a tree, the shirt plastered to her back with sweat and her heart hammering. It didn’t matter which direction she chose, whether she walked, trotted or ran, her feet turned her around and brought her back to the camp.

Sobbing with frustration, she pulled out her spare blade and wrenched it from the scabbard. It was razor sharp, but she’d gone beyond caring if she cut her own throat. Slipping it beneath the torque, she sawed with increasing desperation.

A firm hand stayed hers. “It won’t work, Anje.” Trey stood beside her, kindness in his hazel eyes. “Nothing does, except trust.”

She spat an epithet and gave him her back. The Matriarchs would be expecting her. She needed to be gone.

Now
.

“The greater the trust, the greater the distance.”

At that, she glanced over her shoulder. Trey smiled, cocky and sweet. “You could try it, you know.”

“Trusting Brin?” She meant it to sound derisive, but it came out as a wistful croak.

“There’s no one like him.” Trey’s smile faded.

26 Gift of the Goddess

Anje let herself slide to the base of the tree. She stretched her legs out in front of her with a sigh. “Thank the Mother for that.” She slanted a glance at Trey. “Who is he?
What
is he?”

“He’s the most powerful shaman among our people, dragon-anointed.” Trey settled neatly beside her.

“By a real dragon?” she queried scornfully.

“No.” Trey’s lush mouth curved and for a moment, she let herself be distracted. “You’ll see.” He leaned his head back against the tree, gazing up into the canopy.

In repose, his features were not boyish after all. There was dignity in the broad, clear forehead, strength in that stubborn jaw. Commitment. She had a sudden insight. “You’d die for him, wouldn’t you?”

He shot her a glance. “Yes.”

The sound of the vranee tearing at the tough grass was loud in the silence. A harness jingled.

“Would he do the same for you?”

“He almost has.” Trey’s smile was wry. “More than once.”

“Tell me.”

“Ah.” The smile broadened to a grin. “There’s a price to be paid for stories.”

She knew that expression. Heat roiled in her belly. “Fine. So don’t tell me.”

Trey drew his knuckle down her cheek in a feathery caress. She shivered and slapped him away. “But it’s such a small price. A trifle.”

When she pointedly refused to ask, he chuckled. “A kiss, sweetheart. Just a kiss.”

“Don’t be adolescent.”

Trey shrugged.

After a few moments of breathing silence, she said, “One?”

“One. After the story.”

Know your enemy
, she thought. “Tell me then.”

Trey sat up and faced her. His eyes sparkled, more gold than green, even under the trees. He laced his fingers over his knees.

“I met Brin when I was sixteen. I’d heard of him, of course, who in Feolin hadn’t? The greatest warrior, the greatest shaman and still only twenty-six. And Lufra, the offerings he made! Unsurpassed!”

“Offerings?”

“We told you.” He shifted his hips. “Yesterday.” He cupped himself, almost absently. “Orgasms sustain Lufra and in return She stands between the Feolin and the might of the Sky Father and the other gods. She feeds on love, the more powerful the sensation the better—and what is stronger than a climax delayed beyond bearing?”

Anje’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.

27 Denise Rossetti

Trey went on, “Any Feolin man may offer his cock to be milked by the body of a priestess, but the shamans of Lufra are trained to resist. Endlessly.”

Mother of Mercy! She had a vision of Brin, wrists bound with silken ropes, his huge, muscular body oiled and gleaming, that meaty cock shuttling in and out of succulent, gripping flesh. It was all she could see, not the rest of the woman, just that junction. His thighs were corded with tension, his buttocks hollowed as he pumped.

Endlessly.

“How long?” Her throat was so dry she could barely speak, but her sex was drenched.

“It’s more a case of how many. He exhausted twelve once. Made them offer before he did.”

Anje gulped.
Twelve
. It didn’t seem humanly possible. “Is that a record?”

Trey laughed outright. “Even Brin’s human. He says he couldn’t walk for a week afterward. Others have done better, but only with drugs to numb the sensations. Brin wouldn’t pollute his offering.”

“Do women—?“ she husked.

“Oh yes. Some of the priestesses are famous for their endurance. They argue that a woman’s offering is more pleasing to Lufra than a man’s. Bless ‘em.” Trey spread his hands. “Who knows? I think all She cares for is the emotion of it, the pure passion.

“Speaking of which, I’m hard as a spear. Come here.” He reached for her, but Anje planted a hand under his breastbone and shoved.

“I haven’t heard how he saved your life.”

Trey grimaced as he leaned back. “That’s easily told. I was only a lad, more balls than sense. And I was insufferably proud.”

His expression shuttered and she wondered what he wasn’t telling her. “I guess I was spoiled. Brin was given charge of three of us, to be our mentor. It’s a common custom among the Feolin.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I burned to impress him. So I took a half-broken vran from the Palace stable. I didn’t know it was in rut. Gods, what a fool!” His lips thinned. “It got away from me, of course. We were nearly at the cliff above the river before he caught up.”

He shook his head and fell silent. Anje gripped his forearm. “
What happened
?”

He roused. “Brin drove his own mount into mine. We went down in a great tangle a dozen paces before the edge of the cliff.”

“Mother!” She looked at the vranee below. The turquoise-feathered stallion was taller at the shoulder than her head, with a deep chest and withers. The sunlight glinted on three wicked horns as it grazed contentedly. In the wild, rutting males disemboweled each other with those razor-sharp weapons. What a killing risk he’d taken—and all for a green boy.

“Were you punished?”

28 Gift of the Goddess

He nodded. “Brin refused to tell my parents. Said it was his responsibility because I was in his care. But for six months, I mucked out his stable every day and sparred with him besides. He didn’t hold back either. I got a brilliant collection of bruises.”