Hunted: A Claiming Novella (The Claiming) (5 page)

“Penelope and I have history. That’s it.
I’m going to claim her. Even before you sent out the proclamation. We both knew
it. It’s just a matter of making her see things my way.”

“Ah, how intriguing, I see, I see.” The
king spoke rapidly as he often did when he had multiple things on his mind.

“I don’t want to keep you. I have things
to see to—”
Like my aching balls.
“Was there anything else you needed
from me?”

Lyle lit another cigarette, then clamped
it between his lips as he rolled up a map of the kingdom. Ryon recognized it;
this particular map marked the strategic attack points from the Avagarians and
showed each location they’d ever hit.

“The locals say they hear howling in the
forest late at night.”

“They say the trees are talking,” said
the brunette woman on the bed.

“Lysse, my dear, do shut up,” Lyle said.

The woman, Lysse was her name, winked
then rolled over to continue petting the other girl.

“Let’s find out what they’re talking
about to be certain,” Lyle said.

“It’s probably nothing. Simply fears
being compounded after the recent attack. Everyone will be feeling less safe,”
Ryon said, his mind already at work breaking apart the mechanics of the
situation and planning. Always planning. The attack was isolated, but Ryon
anticipated more, much more. The king may have his own resources to gather
information, but so did Ryon. The folks living on the eastern border weren’t
just whispering about trees talking—they were whispering about seeing strange
faces moving in and out of the forest at night.

That had made Ryon’s skin prickle. The
Avagarians could be planning an all-out assault in the future. He’d kept the
people of Tarlè safe for six years; he just hoped he could keep it that way for
six more.

“Naturally, of course. Still, see to it
and report back to me if you find anything interesting.”

Ryon nodded and turned to go, but the
king stopped him.

“One more thing…” Lyle said. Ryon turned
back around, crossed his arms, impatient to get home. “Would you like to take
Lysse with you? She’s quite decadent.”

Lysse rolled on the bed to face Ryon,
the soft expression of a hopeful woman showing on her face. Ryon, however, felt
no lust toward this woman.

“I’d rather not.”

Before Lysse could screech a storm at
him, Ryon spun on his heel and exited. He had an ache to ease.

Chapter 4

“You should have seen the look on his
face.” Penelope sighed, a dreamy smile on her face.

“I wish I could have seen it,” her
sister, Phoebe, said.

At only five and twenty, Phoebe was the
youngest child out of the Farris sisters. While Penelope had turned out to be a
dancer like their grandmother, Phoebe had taken the military route like their
father. She taught archery for the ranged forces. She was the best bow shooter
in the kingdom. No one had yet to beat her in archery competitions. Many had
tried and failed.

Phoebe had stopped by Penelope’s
dressing room for a brief chat before Pen took the stage tonight.

“He’s going to fight for me at the
Claiming, to be my husband.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I know you and
he have a history, but is this Claiming Ceremony what you want?”

Penelope nibbled on her lip as she
finished shimming into her white tutu for tonight’s performance. “I’m not sure.
He’s quite…large and intimidating. I’m afraid a life with him won’t leave me
much freedom.”

“True enough,” Phoebe agreed. “He seems
to, oh, I don’t know,
care
about you though. Does that make things
different?”

Penelope didn’t let her sister see how
much her words affected her. She’d hoped that Phoebe would come here and
discourage her from accepting Ryon’s claim. Instead, she seemed to want to hook
them up. Not exactly what she’d been expecting from her macho-archery
sister. 

“I doubt that. He wants to sleep with
me. He’s thinking with his manhood and little else,” Penelope said.

Phoebe didn’t look like she believed
that. “Let’s look at the facts.” She held up a finger to count of her points.
“You and he had
something
happen a few years back. You refuse to tell me
what happened but I’m willing to bet that at least a kiss happened. Since then,
neither of you have been with anyone else. You fight when you see each other,
and you said so yourself—he wants you. So while you may not be holding out for
him, he is for you, dearie.”

“How positively uplifting,” Penelope
muttered. Things were looking more dismal than ever.

On the other side of the dance hall, not
far from Penelope’s dressing room, music echoed in full swing as the smaller
ballet troupe performed.
Tarina
Mey
,
her boss and an incredible dancer in her own right, would be getting on stage
to perform her number with the accompanying troupe any minute now. Penelope
finished the last dab of lipstick to complete her exotic makeup for tonight’s
show.

Bam, bam!

Two hard knocks sounded. Both of them
jumped at the sound; Phoebe answered the door.

All the oxygen in the room was sucked
out in a vacuum as Ryon Ward filled her doorway. The last time she’d seen him
she’d left him with an erection—and on the verge of orgasm. Tonight he looked
incredible: dark, scowling, and intense. Even his hands looked ready to curl
into fists—or maybe into her hair as they had yesterday. Her stomach twittered
anxiously.

Phoebe looked back and forth between
them then her eyebrows slowly rose. “Well, I should be going. I came to see
Tarina’s performance anyway. Talk to you later,” she said to no one in
particular. Ryon stepped to the side to let her pass, then closed the door
behind her.

Once more it became quiet, so much
quieter with only Ryon in the room with her. He silenced the world around them
so that she could only focus on him. Tension could be felt flowing chaotically
between them. His eyes trailed down her body then back up. Heat sparked in his
eyes.

For some reason she felt the need to say
something— anything to clear the silence. “I-I’m about to go on soon. I have to
go.”

He took two steps toward her. The
crowded dressing room didn’t leave much space for the general’s
larger-than-life presence. He looked like he wanted to take her over his knee.
Not that she had a problem with that, under certain occasions. She found the
whole idea rather wicked, actually.

“Not yet,” he said. “We need to talk.”

And like that, at the reminder of the
Claiming, her arousal shriveled up like an old prune. “No, thank you,” she said
brusquely. “You need to leave so I can finish getting ready.”

“You look ready to me.” His eyes scoured
her once more making her flush hotly.

“Be that as it may, I still am not
ready. Now leave.”

“Finish getting ready while I’m here
because I’m not going anywhere, Pen.” He crossed his arms across his broad
chest.

There it was again, the nickname which
never ceased to suck the breath right from her.

“Insufferable man…” She looked back over
her makeup and costume, but she already knew she was ready and didn’t have
anything else to do—but to face Ryon.

“We left off last night in an awkward
place,” he said. He sounded unsure of himself. It was the first time she’d ever
heard him like this and it caught her attention.

“Is that how you’d describe it?”

“We never finished discussing the
Claiming.”

Her heart froze a beat in fear. “I can’t
discuss this. Not now!” She had a show to do. She couldn’t dance with thoughts
of Ryon or of her claiming or of this weekend. There were too many questions
and worries to deal with. She much preferred to ignore it.

He stopped before her, coming too far
into her personal space. “Yes, now,” he insisted. “I’ll be at the arena this
weekend. I will fight for you, Pen. And I
will
win. Do you understand
what that means?”

He was so close she could smell him. His
masculine scent was heaven to her senses like rich, heady sex. So potent was
his scent she had to fight the urge to drift forward and bury her face in his
shirt.

“You’re not looking at me,” he said
angrily. “Are you even listening to me?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. His
touch didn’t hurt but it did startle her into looking up at him.

It was a mistake to look at him. Now,
only a breath of air separated them. Her breasts grazed his chest. His gaze
dipped down to her mouth—and stayed there.

“Ryon…I need to know.” She licked her
dry lips, his eyes tracking the movement with predatory regard. Her voice
pitched low to mimic her mood. “When you went home last night did you think
about me? And what we did?” She boldly pressed her hips against his.

And gasped. They both did at what she
found. Already he was hard for her. The grip on her shoulders became bruising a
moment before he released her, mashed his hands in her hair, and held her.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he
said, angry, hungry eyes scoring over her flushed face. “But I can’t wait to
kiss you.”

His mouth came down and laid a claim on
hers. A stake. Hard, wet, and hungry. He kissed her, groaning deep in the back
of his throat, flooding her mouth with his wicked taste, with the promise of
pleasure. Her hips naturally lifted against his to feel even more of him.

“Why would you ask me that question,
little devil? If you’re thinking to try to tease me again, you have another
thing coming.”

Then he attacked her neck with sensual
kisses up to her the back of her ear. She wilted into him like a bouquet of
dying flowers.

“I want to know. Because when I went
home I touched myself, too. Thinking about you. Thinking about how I’d wanted
you and all the things I wanted to do with you. About how I wanted to grab your—”

She never got to finish the statement,
for Ryon growled like a rabid animal before hauling her body against his,
lifting her feet clean off the floor, then slamming his mouth across hers. When
her back hit the wall she didn’t think anything of it at all. It felt like the
most perfect place to be. After all, it made it easier for Ryon’s hands to cup
her breasts and stroke her hips. He drove her mad, her wetness already creaming
her underwear.

“General,” she moaned as he bit down on
the base of her neck. A dominant gesture.

“I’m going to claim you, Pen. I will.
And after, I’m going to fuck your little quim and your mouth. All of you.”

His lips drifted across hers, soft and
gentle, but they forced her mouth open to slide inside. He caressed a moan from
her, and that’s how they were caught when her dressing room door swung open.

No one had locked the door

A startled woman’s voice interrupted. “
Oh!
Excuse me! I’m sorry. I had no clue.”

Horrified, Penelope pushed Ryon away
only to pale at who’d caught them.

Tarina
Mey
stood there. Penelope respected few more than she
did
Tarina
. Not only did she partly own
Prima
Donna’s
, but she was one of the most moving ballet
dancers Penelope had ever seen. Respect didn’t begin to cover how Penelope felt
for
Tarina
. She certainly didn’t want her boss and
friend to see her making kiss-kiss with a man in her dressing room.
Inappropriate wouldn’t begin to touch the situation.

Tarina
took in the two of them, and paused. “Sorry to…interrupt.
Lansey’s
called in sick and can’t perform the number to the adagio key. Could you come
fill in?”

Pen was already nodding, and Ryon
stepped back to give some much needed breathing room.

“I’d love to. I was just headed that
way,” Penelope said. Her blush told an entirely different story.

Tarina
saw it, but at least was kind enough not to say anything. “Great, I’ll see you
in five. Curtain’s already up.” She turned and left, leaving Penelope alone
once again with the man who loved to torture her dreams.

“I’m sorry. That’s my curtain call,” she
told him, hearing the vamping music playing. “Looks like we’ll have to cut this
evening a bit short.”

Ryon tried to grab her but she slapped
his hand away. She didn’t know who she was angrier with—Ryon or herself. She
was a professional. She’d never made out with a man in her dressing room—ever.
She’d be lucky if rumors didn’t spread before nightfall. Just what she needed.
More stress.

His mouth twisted. “Fine. Go. But this
isn’t done with.”

Fine. Whatever, she thought.

The hallway that led to the stage felt longer
than normal. Ryon might even stay to watch her dance.

Behind the massive red curtains,
Penelope took lead position where
Lansey
normally
was. The rest of the dancing troupe formed a
V
pattern behind her. As
the music began the overture, the curtain began rising. Pasting on a delicate
expression, a soft, gentle face, Penelope ignored the packed audience and
focused on her routine.