Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (46 page)

“No, don’t take it out. Stay inside me.” She caressed his legs with her own while her hands ran dreamily up and down his bare back.

He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, smashed against his.

“That was good,” he rumbled in an almost drunken tone.

“Yes,” she purred, “let’s do it again.”

He laughed softly. “Right.”

“I’m not jesting.” She twirled her fingers in his hair. “I’m not done with you yet.” She kissed him and lifted her hips as she whispered feverishly against his skin, “Come on, Thaydor, keep that big, delicious prick hard for me.”

“At least give me a minute, all right?” He winced and laughed, a bit confused. “What’s got into you? And since when do you use such language?”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s true. It
is
big. And delicious.”

He winced as her movements had the desired effect. “I only meant it’s not very ladylike.”

“Did you really want a lady this afternoon?” she whispered, squeezing his nipple.

He moaned, forced to concede she had a point. But when she giggled knowingly and gave him a love bite on his shoulder, he furrowed his brow and pushed her back just a little, so he could look into her eyes. “Don’t take it amiss, sweet, but have you been in here drinking all day?”

“Not all day! Why? Do you want some, too? There’s another bottle in the cabinet.”

Before he could answer, a loud knock at the door made them both look over from their spot, still entwined on the floor.

“Beg your pardon for the interruption, sire, but there is a wizard here who says he simply must speak to you!” the servant called, sounding rather frantic. “That Your Majesty might be in danger.”

“What?” Thaydor asked wearily.

“Please forgive me, sire, but he says it’s very urgent!” the man added.

Wrynne let out a throaty laugh. “I’ll bet.”

“Er, he also says he’ll break the door down by magic if Your Majesty will not come out and hear his news!”

“Oh, really?” He looked at Wrynne. “Well, that rather killed the mood, didn’t it?” he muttered as he sat up.

“Not for all of us.” She giggled and closed her eyes, still lying on the floor. When he withdrew, she ran her hand down her body as though tempted to please herself if he did not hurry to indulge her again.

His male instincts were instantly aroused by her wicked playfulness in spite of himself. “Ilios, what’s got into you today?” He grabbed her hand to stop her and kissed it. “You’d better wait for me, you insatiable little beast.”

“You promise?”

He heaved himself to his feet and refastened his chausses again as he went to the door. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? I don’t like being threatened,” he said upon opening the door, “and I do not speak to sorcerers.”

“You will this one,” Jonty said sternly, waiting for him in the hallway, much to Thaydor’s surprise.

The bard was there with some rather sinister-looking fellow with long black hair.

“Where’s Wrynne?” Jonty demanded.

“She’s in here.” Thaydor could not help grinning. “She’s a bit busy at the moment.”

His two visitors exchanged a guarded glance as Thaydor stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him. He did not fancy them seeing his wife in her current, odd state, let alone dressed like his own little harlot of Fonja.

Come to think of it, perhaps he was fortunate to escape the bedchamber for a few minutes before the lovely little wanton decided to eat him alive.

He took a step forward into the hallway to avoid her overhearing their discussion. She’d already been through enough for one day.

Jonty spoke first. “Look, I know how you probably feel about practitioners of the dark arts, but this is Novus Blacktwist. He teaches at the Wizard’s Spire. You can trust him.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He flicked a glance up and down the sorcerer’s person, wondering if he’d need his sword.

“He saved my life today,” Jonty said firmly. “And more to the point, he’s got an important message for you. About Wrynne.”

The bard suddenly had his full attention.

“What about her?”

Jonty looked expectantly at the servants.

“Go,” Thaydor commanded, and they scurried away.

When they were out of earshot, the Highlander lowered his gaze, searching for the words, as though even his silver tongue failed him at what he had to say.

“What?” Thaydor demanded.

“You say you were just with her. Did she seem at all…strange to you?” Jonty asked with great delicacy.

Thaydor stared at Jonty with an unsettled feeling. “Maybe a little. Why?”

“Turns out she was right about Lord Eudo’s strange insignia. It was a fleur du mal called fire thistle—that plant she saw up at Silvermount.”

“The thing she wanted to look up in the library?”

Jonty nodded. “Yes, and she was right. It
was
the cause of Eudo’s corruption.”

“How’s that? Was it poisonous?”

“Worse.” Jonty gazed at him wistfully. “Evil is such a strange force, Thaydor. Sometimes it’s just a small thing, some petty, personal failing. But there is another kind—pure evil.”

“Tell me about it,” he said with a snort. “I’ve been fighting it my whole life.” He looked from one man to the other in deepening confusion. “But I know you didn’t come here to philosophize with me. So somebody tell me what the hell is going on.”

“We believe you are in danger,” the newcomer informed him, echoing the servant’s earlier claim.

“Another day, another foe that wants to kill me.” He let out a cynical sigh. “Who is it now? King of Aisedor? Or the leader of the Urms? Tell ’em to get in line.”

“No, Thaydor. This time it’s Wrynne,” said Jonty.

Thaydor stared at him, then frowned and turned back to the door. “Right. If you’ll excuse me.”

“This is no jest,” the sorcerer informed him.

“We think the fire thistle might have stung her today when we went to Silvermount.”

“Wait. You took my wife back to Silvermount?” he exclaimed, pivoting. “What about the rocs?”

“They’re all dead,” Jonty hastily assured him. “Unfortunately, that was not the greatest danger on the premises.”

“What did your wife tell you about today?” the sorcerer pursued.

Thaydor looked at them blankly. “Nothing. I only walked in about an hour ago. And we weren’t really…talking.”

“Oh, perfect,” Jonty muttered to his companion. “You see what this means?”

“It’s already using her to try to get control of him.” Novus shook his head. “Especially now that he’s king.”

“She didn’t by chance try to kill you in there, did she?” Jonty asked, seeming to holding his breath.

Thaydor looked from one to the other, bewildered. “Have you two lost your bloody minds?”

Just then, Reynulf came marching into the corridor.

“Oh, good, Thaydor, there you are. What do you want me to do with Eudo? Do we bother with a trial or can I just kill him?”

“Not right now,” he said, waving him off.

Suddenly, the chamber door opened behind him, and there stood Wrynne, dressed just as he had left her. Which was to say, barely dressed at all.

Indeed, she looked like the very embodiment of sex.

Skin flushed, lips swollen, hair tousled, and every curve of her magnificent body on full display, she leaned in the doorway as the other three men gaped at her for a heartbeat and then swiftly averted their eyes.

As well they might, if they valued their lives.

Thaydor stared seethingly at them, making sure none was peeking, then he turned to her. “What are you doing out here? Did you need something?”

“Oh yes.” A radiant smile broke out across her face, but she stared right past him. “Reynulf!” she purred, running a feverish gaze over the man who had once given her nightmares. “Bloodletter, such a bad boy,” she teased, twirling her hair, then she bit her lower lip. “Are you busy right now?”

Thaydor’s jaw dropped.

Chapter 20

Poison

“R
rright
.” Reynulf looked around uncomfortably at the others. “Is she drunk?”

“No,” Jonty said, while Thaydor moved angrily to the doorway, looming over her.

“How dare you?” he thundered at her, red-faced. “Get in the room,
now
!”

“Easy, man!” the bard warned, launching over between the two of them, as though he feared Thaydor might do her some act of violence. “This isn’t her fault!”

“Get out of my way.” Wrynne pouted, trying to peer past them. “I want to see Reynulf.”

“Leaving.” The red knight lifted his hands in surrender and backed away, looking bewildered.

“Oh, don’t go! Mmm.” She ogled Reynulf’s rear end from under Jonty’s arm as he retreated.

Reynulf shot her a look of incredulity over his shoulder, then shook his head and strode away.

Thaydor never took his eyes off her. “Why is my wife acting like a harlot?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“That’s what we’re here to explain, and why we’ve spent the past
hour
trying to get a meeting with you. They wouldn’t let us see you!”

He glared at the bard. “You have my attention. Now, talk.”

“The simplest way to put it is that she’s sort of, well…possessed.”

“I just had the best sex of my life with a
possessed
woman?” he shouted in astonishment.

She laughed gaily. “It was good, wasn’t it? But I’m only getting started. Come on, boys, who’s next? Thaydor couldn’t satisfy me. But I’ll bet one of you can. Or both of you.”

“Why, you little—”

“Not her fault!” the bard insisted again.

“Jonty! My darling,” she moaned, turning her dewy-eyed attentions to the Highlander, slipping her arms around his waist.

Right in front of Thaydor.

“Won’t you sing for me, Jonty?” she asked, her lips skimming the bard’s earlobe. “Your voice
melts
me.”

“Stop that before you get me killed!” he scolded, his cheeks reddening as he slipped out of her grasp and backed away. “Wrynne, you’re not helping yourself here. You’ve got to fight this.”

“Fight what?” she asked prettily. “Oh, hullo, Novus.”

“Don’t look at her!” Thaydor barked.

“We’re not!” Jonty cried. “I’m sorry, dear, but this is for your own good.” With a scowl, he shoved her none too gently back into her chamber, pulled the door closed, and held it shut while she protested, pounding on it.

“Let me out! You can’t make me a prisoner! Oh, please. All of you are so boring!”

Possessed?
Thaydor walked away, stunned, utterly confused, and pretty well humiliated, too. He looked at them in shock. “What the hell happened to my wife?”

Novus took over the task of holding the door shut so that Jonty could go over to him and attempt to explain.

“She’s under the influence of a very dark magic right now. The venom of the fire thistle turns a person wicked. The more time that passes, a perfectly nice person can begin turning into a very devil.”

“Or a whore?” Thaydor asked coldly, angry at himself for allowing her to sway him where all the Fonjan harlots had failed—and even worse, for enjoying it so much.

He should have known.

Jonty looked pained by his bitter question but forged on. “According to our research, the more innocent the victim, the less immunity he or she has to something like this. In such hosts, it takes hold all the faster and has a more powerful effect. Listen, we don’t have much time.”

“Fine. We’ll get the Golden Master to perform an exorcism—”

“That’s not going to do the trick! Thaydor, listen to me. I know you feel betrayed right now, but it’s not her fault. I’m afraid your wife’s condition is very serious.”

“Ahem, if I may.” Novus used a spell to lock the door and joined them over by the window at the end of the hallway.

“By all means,” the bard muttered, gesturing to him to take over the explanations, and looking rather at his wit’s end with Thaydor’s hardheadedness.

As Novus turned to him, Thaydor eyed the exotic-looking stranger skeptically, unsure if he trusted him.

Novus returned his gaze with equal wariness.

To be sure, there was no love lost between the followers of Ilios and Okteus. On the other hand, Thaydor did not sense a particular aura of evil around him.

“Blame me if it helps,” Novus said, addressing him as though he were still simply paladin and not king.

It came as a relief.

“I took the group of them to Silvermount,” he continued. “I needed their assistance to send the fire thistle back to the Infernal Plane so that no one else might become infected.”

“But someone did,” Thaydor said coldly, quietly.

“Your lady insisted on coming despite your men’s protests, because she alone knew where the firechoke was.”

He clenched his jaw. It certainly sounded like Wrynne, launching herself into the thick of the danger.

“We had her well protected,” Jonty said in dismay. “All her guards were around her, as were Novus and I. Then Novus opened the portal to the Infernal Plane, as planned, and I was to have cast the fire thistle through it. But the rocs attacked, and Wrynne suggested I use my music to calm them, which I agreed to because I was afraid the three lads would die.”

He looked away as another wave of anger washed through him. “So, they were with you, too?”

“They did well, Thaydor! The point is, Wrynne ended up with the job of throwing the fire thistle into the portal. Handled carefully, it didn’t seem that dangerous. Especially for someone who’s an expert on plants. And don’t blame Novus, despite what he says. He was in a trance with the effort to hold the portal open and stop any demons from coming through. Nobody saw exactly what happened, but we soon suspected she got stung. Novus asked her flat out and she denied it. Lied to his face.”

“Tell me she wasn’t acting like this with all of you earlier today?” he asked in a strangled tone.

“No, no, this is new,” Jonty said grimly, glancing over at the door, where she still knocked and scratched and begged to get out, occasionally calling them all bastards for locking her in.