Gift of the Goddess (9 page)

“No.” He dragged his hair back and secured it with the thong. The line of his jaw showed strong and severe, set hard. Suddenly, he looked older. Weary.

It might be ridiculous, but all this mumbo jumbo obviously meant something to him. Anje stalked to her pack and retrieved her last pair of trews. As she bent to pull them on, the torque shifted on her neck. With an uneasy twist in her gut, she remembered the way its magic had prevented her from leaving the camp. Leaving Brin.

She looked down at her body and her mouth went dry. “What about these?” Hands frozen on her laces, she indicated the silvery marks.

“Lufra’s claimed you, Anje. Those are Her wings. I was right about you.” The shaman’s dark brows drew down. “I almost wish I wasn’t.”

“Why not?” she asked, feeling stung. Was there something wrong with her?

Brin put a large hand under her chin and tilted it. “Because of what you are.”

She jerked her head aside and glared. “And that is?”

His lips twitched. “A warrior. Independent, bloody-minded. A true Child of the Mother.” She heard Trey’s snicker from the bedroll where he was lounging, unabashed and beautiful in his nudity.

“My people are honored among the Ten Nations!” She stuck out her chin.

“That may be so, but it’s a dangerous journey back to the lands of the Feolin. There can be only one leader.” He took her cheeks between his palms and stared deep into her eyes. “When I command, you must obey instantly, scout. No thought, no hesitation. Our lives will depend on it.” He paused. “And our souls.”

44 Gift of the Goddess

There were so many things Anje wanted to say, they tangled together on her tongue. She drew a sanity-saving breath and exerted her will. Ticking the points off on her fingers, she gritted, “One, I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re lunatics. I have my duty. I’m a scout, with a report to deliver. Two, command is a matter of respect and trust. It has to be earned.”

Brin grew very still. He dropped his hands. The air sizzled. “How have we forfeited your respect, Anje? Have we treated you with aught but honor?”

Anje refused to take a step back, though her feet wanted to. Intimidation had no effect on a Child of the Mother. But how was it he made her feel so small? Surely, he wasn’t
hurt
?

“By your own lights, I suppose you have.” she admitted. She met his eyes. “But trust is something else entirely.”

“True.” Brin took a step closer, until his body brushed hers. His fingers trailed over her shoulder blade and she shivered. “A few minutes ago, you had both of us buried inside you, Anje.” His voice dropped to a rough purr. “To the hilt. You gave yourself freely. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”

She licked her lips, resisted the silken pull of his will, his certainty. “It was… I’ve never… You’re very good.”

She shook her head to clear it, grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. Mother, what
was
it about this man? Rolling up the too-long sleeves, she strove to sound brisk, rather than bemused. “And three. Three…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe you. All this nonsense about dreams, the goddess… Read my lips. I. Don’t. Believe. It.”

“Sweetheart?” Trey stood at her elbow. “Look here.”

In his hands he held a small round mirror. He angled it so Anje caught her own reflection. She sighed. She should have braided her hair before they…

Her eyes looked strange. Frowning, she peered, and snatched the mirror out of Trey’s hands. Deep in each pupil, a tiny flame danced, a white-hot flicker.

The mirror dropped from her nerveless fingers.

Speechless, she stared from one man to the other. Brin stood poised, every muscle tense, but Trey was grinning. “You should see it when you offer, Anje. It’s a wonder you don’t burn us all to a crisp.” He blew on his fingers. “But what a way to go!”

Fury and terror boiled within her. She was a Child of the Mother, not a plaything for some divine slut! Baring her teeth, daring them to stop her, she slung her pack over her shoulder and stamped into her boots.

Hands on hips, she seared them with her glare. “I’m going to set snares,” she snarled. “If you’re lucky, I’ll get to kill something that’s not human!”

Trey stood frozen, but Brin followed her out of the tent. He clamped long fingers around her biceps and swung her around. “Don’t push me, Anje. You won’t like the results.” The fire in his midnight eyes blazed.

45 Denise Rossetti

Anje growled deep in her throat, ripped her arm free and took off at a dead run.

Brin watched her go, her long legs eating up the distance. As she disappeared over the ridge, he rubbed at the crease between his brows.

At his shoulder, Trey said, “That went well.”

Brin grunted dismissively. But Trey had never been able to let well enough alone. “You didn’t tell her about the Great Rite,” he pointed out.

Brin rolled a dark eye at him. “And you would have?”

The lad had the grace to flush. “I need all my working parts.”

“Ay, she’d serve us our guts for breakfast if she knew.”

He had no doubt of it. But the Great Rite was the last chance, the final cast of the dice for the Feolin. If they lost, if they failed to placate the Goddess, his people would die. Not gloriously in battle, but slowly, their empty hearts aching for the babes that never came.

The priestesses were so eager, they’d determined the most auspicious time already, the Day of the Dark, when the Shadow swallowed the Sun, a few weeks hence.

Feolin legend was rife with hero shamans and brave, wanton priestesses who abandoned themselves to the sexual excesses of the Rite, their passion an acceptable libation to the Goddess. By their sacrifice, their submission, so the stories went, they invoked Lufra’s protection against some dire evil, thereby saving the world. Time and again.

Heroes indeed.

Brin stared blankly at the ridge above the valley. She was up there somewhere, fuming—his insoluble problem, the woman he wanted more than life. The darkness of his thoughts gathered like storm clouds behind his temples. His head ached.

Reality was grimmer by far than myth. Three centuries ago, the Rite had ended in disaster. Contemporary accounts were garbled. No one knew whether it was human error or divine wrath that caused the conflagration, but the temple was consumed by a fireball so massive it was leveled to the ground and all within it perished. Not surprisingly, the ritual had not been performed since.

“A couple of weeks,” said Trey, echoing his thoughts in that uncanny way he had. “Can you turn her around in time? She’s your match, I think.”

“Nonsense, she can’t be. No training.”

“Don’t be so sure, mighty shaman. I was there, remember?” Trey’s eyes sparkled. “You pushed and she pushed right back. You almost had her for a moment there, at the start, but then she turned us both inside out and she wasn’t even trying.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Trey grinned and elbowed him in the side. “Since when do you let another man wrap his hands around your cock?” The grin became a chuckle. He slapped his knees. “Lufra, you should see your face!”

46 Gift of the Goddess

Brin wasn’t worried about his face, because there was an iron band constricting his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

The realization hit him hard, and not pleasantly.

She had known.

Trey’s touch, so firm and
knowing
, so unlike a woman’s, had driven him closer to the edge, faster, than anything since he’d been a temple boy in training.

Somehow, even if she wasn’t actually conscious of it,
somehow
, she had known.

And like an idiot, he’d Bonded himself with her. He’d been absolutely certain of her, of himself, this morning. He hadn’t been wondering about his domination, her submission. He’d assumed it.

After the vividness of his dreams of her, after her blazing response in the flesh, he’d fooled himself into believing he
knew
her, that she could fill the hollow place inside him, the one that ached.

The temptation had been too much. Goddess knew, he was so very tired of being alone. It must be something to do with getting old. For Lufra’s sake! He couldn’t even have Trey to love, though the lad was his constant companion.

What had he done to deserve such torture? He’d spent years disciplining himself to ignore that lithe, compact body, to deny himself the love he thought he saw in his prince’s eyes. It wasn’t because Trey was royal. Though Brin’s origins were humble, he was more than his friend’s equal. Without vanity, he knew he was the greatest shaman of his age.

But Trey was his responsibility, had been since the day Brin had saved his life. The shaman’s lips twisted. He was all too familiar with hero worship and he refused to take advantage of it. To do that was more than simply unfair, the very thought of it sickened him. Those who preyed on the vulnerability of the young committed a grievous offence before the Goddess.

Besides, this silken tug had to be an aberration. No other man had stirred even the slightest flicker in him, though, to be sure, he’d been presented with numerous opportunities. And what if he was wrong? Trey would be appalled, insulted.

Was he a coward or a noble fool? He clenched his fists ‘til the nails dug crescents in his palms. Lufra, what a tangle! Bitterly, he hoped She was amused.

Trey was still talking. “She wants control, Brin, same as you. It’s very entertaining.”

“Bastard. You’re enjoying it.”

“What’s not to enjoy?” The lift of Trey’s eyebrow was a challenge. “It’s the closest I’ve come to seeing you crack.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Trey’s lashes swept down. He shrugged. “I just do what I’m told.”

Please Lufra, Trey wasn’t flirting with him. The thought of all that muscular, creamy flesh at his mercy was too intoxicating. He drew a deep breath, inhaling the

47 Denise Rossetti

musky scent of the other man’s skin, the smell of sex. He refused to drop his gaze below Trey’s shoulders. There were freckles there. He wanted to count them with his tongue.

Goddess help him, he was beyond redemption! Wrenching his thoughts away, he said, “If I do crack, if I fail to gain Anje’s trust, her complete and absolute submission, I won’t be able to keep her safe in the Rite. We’ll both die. And so will the Feolin.”

Trey gripped his forearm. His face was intent, absolutely serious. “I’m sorry, Brin. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’ll do whatever you want. Just tell me.”

“Then put some clothes on, for Lufra’s sake! And find me that Aetherian brandy!”

48 Gift of the Goddess

Chapter Seven

Fareng:

Brightly colored, carnivorous lizard, generally found in wooded areas near water. Fareng mate for life and both sexes incubate the eggs. Fareng venom is secreted on spikes in the tail. By paralyzing the lungs of the victim, it produces a quietly painful death. It is therefore a popular tool of the trade in the Assassins’ Guilds.

Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

Anje stood under the whispering canopy of a sorrowtree and stared down at the two figures squatting at the small fire. Now dusk had fallen, it was so still, she could hear Brin’s distinctive rumble, Trey’s clear laugh.

Why weren’t they more concerned about Hssrda? She’d scouted all around the valley, working in widening circles, until the torque interfered with her feet again. She was pretty certain she’d got a little further this time. Perhaps the magic was wearing off.

There’d been no sign of the Mother-be-damned creatures, though she’d found some curious arrangements of feathers and stones and bones. Each was seemingly random, but strangely beautiful on further inspection. Hssrda weren’t capable of such flights of fancy, but she had a suspicion who was, so she’d left them alone.

She’d snared three bunrats and dressed their fat, furry little carcasses. Her stomach rumbled as she gathered the wherewithal for a fire of her own. Roast bunrat was tastier by far than the dried jerky stew her Feolin warriors would be eating. Served them right. Nothing could induce her to go back there. Trey would soften her up with sweet words and Brin would touch her cheek and smile his crooked smile and she’d be lost.

Lost.

She had to get away, put her map in the hands of the Matriarchs.
She had to
.

Or her soul would no longer be her own. They were simply too tempting, too beguiling. Already, her weaker self was cajoling,
one more time, just one more
. Pleasure beyond her comprehension, tenderness she hadn’t known she craved.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

By the time she’d licked the grease of one bunrat from her fingers, packed the other two and laid out her bed bag at the limit of the torque’s range, her head ached with tension. For some reason, she couldn’t forget Brin’s grim expression. He was angry, she knew that, but it wasn’t what she found most disturbing. The focus of his will was entirely on her. On
her
.