MOONDOCK (4 page)

It was a heady thought. Had he actually stumbled upon a pure elamie? Even he, King of Moondock, never expected such a gift when he finally decided to claim an elamie. If it was true, Wylan vowed to give homage to the gods for their blessing. A quiet laughter escaped him. “Your gift, great father, may not be all sweetness, but I accept the honor bestowed and will do my best to correct her failings.”

Rude Awakenings

“Where is my armor?”

Wylan didn’t turn from scattering the coals.

“You don’t need it any longer.” He could actually feel her eyes scalding his back. If he’d had the time, he would have tossed the ridiculous cause for her renewed anger into the pool. Regardless, it would not touch her female form again.

The leaves certainly did their magic in restoring her strength. His hand touched the satchel now stored among his things. One would never expect the weakness he encountered yesterday in the elamie.

Rising to his full height, Wylan ignored her agitation. “Call your beast, elamie.”

Meeting his hard gaze, she raised her fingers to those pink lips, betraying their softness with a shrill whistle. The beast’s answering call from the distance could be heard before the onslaught of the thundering body crashing through the undergrowth. Shaking his head, Wylan doubted he would find any game while that animal was around.

He didn’t let her see his caution when she went to the Rolley. He’d soon learn if she remembered her oath. Nothing had been said about the force or the weakness that struck her. It was as if she had no knowledge of the events.

Walking up to them, Wylan picked up the heavy saddle. “Down Rolley!”

He didn’t miss her astonishment over the animal’s instant drop before him.

“Go get the stores.”

Choosing to give her the benefit of his patience when she didn’t move, he waited to learn the cause.

“Thank you for sparing him.”

When he felt her walk away his eyes finally followed her movements, noting the way her shoulders came back.
A stance for control, to hold to the promise?
Yes, she was, but it told him she honestly didn’t have any awareness of the power she possessed.
A sorceress that didn’t know her own abilities?
An elamie without a protector and never trained in the ancient way? The puzzle concerning her was getting larger.

Adjusting the satchels and furs on the animal, Wylan passed the girl his cloak. “It will protect you from the limbs.”

Without her armor, she hated her vulnerability. Wrapping the massive garment about her, she silently cursed the words that put her in such a disagreeable position. When the male mounted her steed and held his hand out for her, Melane’s eyes glared threateningly at Rolley’s brown ones that veered guiltily away. Even he had turned on her. Accepting his help she mounted behind him. Melane didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“The beast may scare away all the game, but I do enjoy his speed.”

Her decision came instantly when he sent Rolley into a run.

The unwanted hold about his waist drew Wylan’s smile. Digging his heels into the beast, she had no choice but to tighten her grip, bringing her enticing body up against his back to stay on. Her discomfort made the brisk ride extremely enjoyable.

Melane gave up the struggle, finally laying her cheek into the protective wall of his firm back to avoid the whipping branches. Rolley was in his element in full speed and the man in control didn’t try to hide his own pleasure. It burned Melane to realize that it wasn’t Rolley instigating the ninety degree turns or complete reversals of directions. The male was exerting his expert command over her steed!

Rolley’s betrayal was a small thorn when compared to the large form so boldly touching her own. His dark satin hair rested beneath her cheek. It was actually soft. She hadn’t expected it. Nor had she imagined how fresh and clean his invading scent could be. He smelled like the land and something unfamiliar to her, but uncomfortably pleasing to the senses.

Closing her eyes, she tried again to halt the thoughts his closeness evoked. The invasion proved overwhelming. Nothing she believed to be true was a part of this man. He wasn’t coarse, but smooth and firm, like oiled leather and just as tanned. Instead of a hulk, his great form was tall and impressive, massive in build, imposing because of the taut corded muscles. Even now, they vibrated beneath her fingers about his stomach and ribs. She never touched such raw power. This male was the farthest extreme from ugly.

Beautiful
…Ah, Melane admitted, he was a dream that reality couldn’t allow her to deny. His face held that commanding portrait of his impressive bearing. Sure and undaunted, the sharp unquestionable lines exemplified the natural authority he bore. Sucking in her breath, she did not fail to see the pride that shined out of those endless dark pools. She had only glimpsed the fury they could ignite to; deciding the sample was enough to sustain her curiosity.

If he were an example of all males, these Selams would no doubt take on the quest. The question she failed to voice pounded in her chest. Was he a Selam? She should have spoken of Cibrac this morning and told him the reason for her presence in his land. Melane felt ashamed of the cause behind her silence. She, a Lamar, actually feared the answer.

The admission confused her. He made thinking impossible. A tremor passed through her as she struggled with her unwanted thoughts. The invasion of his heat mingling with hers, overpowered all logical thinking, leaving her more confused and upset than before.

Wylan’s hand clasped the slim arm, whose hold faltered. The delicate shiver at his back caused a strange reaction in him. The sudden desire never to let her leave his side almost made him push the Rolley on, even in light of the tiredness he felt in her. The animal cut in half the distance that took him three days to achieve on foot. Wylan didn’t honestly want to arrive at Moondock with the elamie just yet. No, he wanted more time with her…alone.

The loving image of his mother came forth. Tarra, Wylan’s mother, Cristare’s…wife. For a moment he pictured his elamie as such, but brushed the ridiculous thought away. A Selam held to one elamie for life! No man willingly allowed such a hold from a mere female.

Cristare had taken Tarra as his elamie. Proven pure by the elder elamies, she choose the honor of wife to King Cristare of Moondock. Few elamies possessed that privilege and the authority that came with the rites. Only a pure elamie had that one time option, only a few Selams allowed the old law to be invoked. Wylan never questioned his father as to why he allowed Tarra to announce her claim. Strange, but Wylan had never seen his father displeased with the ancient restriction. Once the mating rites of Selam to elamie were spoken they were breakable only by the death of one or both.

His father’s death ten years ago devastated Tarra in a way Wylan had not seen in any other elamie. So much so, his mother chose the right bestowed with the title of wife, not to accept another’s protection in Cristare’s place. She told him then, no one could fill Cristare’s essence in her heart. In a way, even now, though he didn’t understand, he was glad his mother remained a free spirit in his household. If he admitted his own feelings, Wylan knew, he would not have found any favor with whoever won Tarra. Though his were unwanted feelings, they hadn’t changed and neither did his mother’s.

Tarra only bore one child from her life as Cristare’s wife. She had only been thirty-three when his father died and was still within the age to bear life. Most elamies bore many children by their protectors. The babes always remained with the fathers should the elamie’s household change. It was the accepted way. No one complained least of all the Selams, who were insured their sons. With so few elamies for the thriving Selam populace, the custom was satisfactory.

The Selam race benefited. Only the strongest survived the claiming fights for an elamie. The result achieved a race of powerful males that no other tribe could vanquish.

Wylan had not sired any babes and honestly refused to consider the matter. As king, he was cautious not to achieve an unwanted or unsuitable heir. His elamies were for pleasing his young loins. His eyes grew languid over the sweet memories. Elamies were lovely creatures. The only failings he encountered were their increasing demands upon him. As always, his male senses would rear against the possessive light in their ardent gazes. Eager commanders did enjoy the gifts he bestowed upon them for their brave and not so outstanding deeds.

Pulling Rolley to a halt, Wylan reached around and brought the elamie down, deliberately molding her fine body over his sensitive thigh. When her cheeks unexpectedly flamed over his act, he felt as if he had been struck. His desire to bed her was becoming an insistent throbbing in his virile veins. The mystery as to why he had not accomplished the pleasurable deed started to feel like a hot fire in his stomach. He didn’t like the increasing strength of his own questions regarding her.

If she were pure, he was risking the threat his own father surrendered to by not vanquishing the possibility immediately. Once he reached Moondock, Tarra would, as she always did, insist upon the purity confirmation. For all the love he held for his mother, in this one thing she tested his patience to the extreme. He, Wylan, did not intend to be trapped by any elamie, no matter how beautiful her aquamarine eyes were against her dark exotic essence.

What was he concerned about? He would just refuse the rite should she dare to intone such an outlandish claim. The act would mean losing her. Wylan’s jaw vibrated under the fierce conviction settling inside him against allowing such a possibility.

Was he angry because she failed to hide her unwanted reaction to his touch? Melane cursed the Kibras for their part in putting her here!

She hadn’t the knowledge to guide her in dealing with this awesome male. The weavers never taught anything about what a Nemow faced with a Selam. She scoffed at the thought. There probably wasn’t a Nemow, Priestess or Syron that would be able to deal with the likes of him! She, a Lamar captain, who should be back protecting Cibrac, was expected to accomplish the feat? The battle rules and her opponent were unsettling her warrior instincts. Her legs wouldn’t be still. “It is ludicrous.”

Was his peace so short lived?
She looked ready to bolt. He almost relished the challenge, at least he wouldn’t be pondering such foolish notions.
Rites, indeed.

She should concentrate on the quest, not the male. Remembering Shemon’s words didn’t help…do whatever is necessary. The prospect was frightening. She didn’t even know what
whatever
was!

When she turned, Wylan was ready, but he’d not expected the impact she could unknowingly have upon him. Wild as a black gar that hunted in the cliffs, her long waves fell in a madding display about her petite body. Her crystal eyes unconsciously darted about him as if judging the best path to escape. His body tightened in denial, waiting. She intrigued him beyond all others, making him impatient to discover her intimate secrets.

She’d waited too long already, but the words came hard. By all the forces he stood there looking as if the sun just touched him. Bronze to gold, and all that power. A strange tingling sensation started deep in her stomach, spreading like wildfire, scorching everything in its path.

Nothing about her escaped his senses. The nervous way her tongue skimmed her lips and made them glisten like a flower heavy in dew. The way her hand fell away, when finding no defense at her waist to hold to, no he had all the weapons.

“We will make camp here tonight.” Neither of them moved. “I will unsaddle the Rolley.”

“He is a Kaymog, Rolley is his name.” Once released her words rushed out. “Are you a Selam?”

The odd question made the muscles play across his chest. “Why do you have cause to ask such an obvious question?”

Melane faltered, he was right. “I…I was sent to find the Selams.”

“Sent? In what manner? By whom?”

“The high council of Nemow, Priestess Shemon sent me to confer with your rulers.”

“Why didn’t you speak of this before?”

Melane’s arms held her waist, she drew a strained gasp. “It was a long journey…it matters not, I am now.”

Wylan already knew why she appeared so flustered and enjoyed her dilemma. “And you, why did this council send an elamie?”

“I told you, I am Melane, a Lamar Captain of Cibrac’s grand guards.” The way his lips cocked infuriated her. Scolding the emotion and him for causing her loss of control, she reminded herself why she stood here suffering his gloating stare. “I request you take me to your rulers.”

“We have but one in Moondock.”

It wasn’t what she expected, but it would have to do. “Alright, then take me to him so I may present the council’s request.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Wylan relaxed his stance against her. “By all means present it.”

“Your ruler will hear of your insolence. Do you treat all visitors to your land in such a rude manner?”

“Not all, only young, unschooled elamies that seem to have forgotten their place.”

His voice never rose to deliver the calm, chilling threat.

Melane hissed out with her increasing unease. “The Nemow priestesses were wrong in seeking the ancient Selams.”

“Maybe their only mistake was in sending a mere girl, in place of a man.”

The insult cut like a blade across her pride. “Nemows haven’t needed males for five life spans. We will do fine without the Selams. I will leave and convey my disappointment for…” her eyes scathed the male before her, “…what I have found.”

A suppressed tremor of rage raced down to his feet. When she started walking righteously past him. “You need more than just schooling.” The hand closing about her arm prevented her intent to leave. His other one drew her slowly up in front of him.

Staring at his chest Melane fought to breathe. The nerve jumping at his neck filled her vision. Each raging pulse drummed with the anger she foolishly called forth. Should he strike her, he would surely kill her. Not even the admission of her fate could keep her eyes from rising to face the fierce ones demanding her attention. He was so close; his charged breath fanned her face. Confronting the mastery in his glare’s raven brilliance, she struggled to back away, earning a harsh jerk for her efforts. One that made her body touch his rippling form.

Melane bit her lip in order not to groan over the contact. A touch that let her feel the power racing throughout his massive form. All her abounding fear didn’t give her the strength to break away from his captive hold.