Rejar (23 page)

Emmy had gone back downstairs to check with his Highness. If anything could point out the difference in her station from yesterday to today, that was it. Her orders didn’t count anymore. He had last say. The interloper! It was infuriating.

However, she did feel a tad badly about the way she had treated his brother. For all she knew, the poor man could be completely ignorant of Nickolai’s errant behavior. And she had promised Nickolai she would keep his secret. She supposed she would have to apologize to his brother at dinner.

But she would not apologize to him.

Naturally, Nickolai had countermanded her instructions to Emmy, telling the maid to do exactly as he had said. He had moved into her room lock, stock, and barrel. Just as he had moved into her life.

He was odious!

A barbarian!

Unbidden, the words a rather cute barbarian popped into her head. Despite herself, the corners of her mouthed twitched as she remembered the little lick he gave her in his sleep this morning. The Prince was very angelic-looking while he was sleeping. Too bad it didn’t carry over into his waking state!

She settled down into the warm water, closing her eyes in bliss. She could feel herself drifting into a doze. Mmmm, the water felt so nice....

* * *

Soft lips sipped gently up her arm...

“Nickolai?” she mumbled sleepily.

“It better be.”

Lilac opened her eyes. Nickolai’s blue-golden stare met her look. He was sitting down on the stool by the tub next to her. “I must have fallen asleep.” She yawned, then gasped as she realized she was stark naked and wantonly displaying herself to his view. In broad daylight. “What are you doing in here?” She was outraged.

“I was looking for you.”

“For what?”

Ever-so-slowly, his fingers walked up her arm. Those ridiculously long lashes of his lifted languorously, revealing eyes gone incandescent with a certain heat. A heat she was beginning to recognize.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Lilac pouted. “I don’t wish to.”

One strong finger reached out to flick her nipple. It went pebble-hard instantly. He bent down, taking the nubbin gently between his lips to suckle. A little sound suspiciously close to pleasure escaped her mouth.

“No?” he whispered against the peak of her breast.

“I—I don’t think—” His perfect teeth bit down on her. She groaned his name.

It was enough of a consent to him. Powerful arms reached under her in the tub, lifting her body out of the water and across his lap with impossible ease. Water dripped all over him and onto the floor, soaking through his garments, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“You shouldn’t do—”

His mouth closed over her own.

In a heated press, his lips demanded a response and the fiery penetration of his tongue received it.

Lilac clutched the open collar of his shirt, moaning at the fierce sliding motion of his tongue inside her. She could taste him, feel him, rich in her mouth.

He would show her a small portion of a Familiar’s special talent. ...

The palms of his hands slid along her damp body, reheating the water-cooled skin stroke by sensuous stroke as he continued to ruthlessly plunder the hot, damp well of her mouth. Lilac shivered at the sheer mastery of his kiss.

He withdrew to suckle sweetly on her lower lip, teasing her with small nips of his teeth, laving her with refined sweeps of his tongue—only to suddenly plunge into her again in a strong, powerful thrust. He drank of her.

As if he willed it, her breath started coming in short gasps.

Into his mouth.

Rejar took the gift of her breath, giving it back to her intermittently between his measured strokes and sweeps. Blood, like a savage, beating drum, pounded through her veins as he gave vibrant life to her senses. She writhed against him, prisoner to his skill; and she realized she could not take any breath except that which he deigned to give her.

She became captive to his rhythmic prowess. Avidly seeking his next breath, stroke, slide. His.

A tiny waterfall of pleasure spasms trickled over her body, increasing with each deliberate surge of his mouth against her. With every licking plunge into her. Nickolai effortlessly ignited her to sizzling point with just the talent of his lips and tongue.

No match for his expertise. Lilac thrashed wildly under him. “More,” she begged. She had to taste more.

Have more. So he opened his lips on her and gave her what she wanted. He purred into her mouth.

Lilac burst into a thousand flames. Vibrations flared unendingly through her; it was a long, hot blaze of completion. When it was finally over, she sagged against his chest.

The Familiar had brought her to peak with his kiss alone.

When she lazily opened her eyes in the aftermath and gazed up into the sultry, beautiful face above her, Lilac did the only thing she could.

She wound her arm around the strong column of his throat and brought that incredible mouth firmly back to her own.

* * *

Nickolai ran his hot, damp mouth over her throat.

She didn’t remember him carrying her to the bed. She didn’t remember him disrobing. She didn’t seem to remember much of anything.

She only knew that he covered her now like a feverish, throbbing blanket; that his palms securely clasped her shoulders; that he rubbed the head of his erection seductively between the folds of her nether lips.

A low sough of satisfaction rustled from his throat.

Words in a language she had never heard before were whispered huskily against her skin.

“K’mata ninque shateer...”

Like an exotic spice, the mysterious words fell upon her, enhancing his torrid movements, making her want to savor him slowly, infusing her with the tangy promise of what he could give her... .

How had he gotten her like this?

Wild and wanting?

Maybe those enticing phrases were more than just words. Maybe they were sorcery. Surely no conventional man could do this to a woman?

“Nickolai.” She placed her hands on either side of his face, raising his head to her. “You must not cast any spells over me—remember your promise? You must—” She panted as he slid along the outside of her cleft, gently nudging a very sensitive spot with his shaft. “You—you must give up the magic... .”

“Which magic do you speak of, souk-souk? This?” he whispered hoarsely, as he licked around her aureola. “Or this?” He laved just the very tip of her jutting nipple. “Or this ...” He penetrated her slowly, letting her feel him sink into her forever, inch by blessed inch.

“Ohhh—Nickolai...” Her legs went around his waist. It appeared her husband possessed a talent that was completely natural.

When he had gained entrance to the hilt, Rejar moved that little fraction more to let her know real magic. Then he lifted his head, tossing back his black hair. His eyes sparkled down at her, teasingly.

“Kiss me, quick,” he whispered.

Without thinking, she did.

Her new husband showed her how much he approved the innocent touch of her mouth on his. He proceeded to give her a loving she would never forget.

* * *

“Good heavens, Emmy! That isn’t enough food to keep a child fit, let alone a man like this! Put some more on his plate!”

“Yes, mum.” Emmy dutifully ladled another dollop of potatoes onto the green-eyed man’s plate.

Rejar expected Traed to lift one supercilious eyebrow and stop that nonsense from continuing, but he surprised him by graciously nodding his head at Lady Whumples and excepting the extra helping.

For a reason no one at the table could quite fathom, Agatha Whumples had immediately taken to Traed ta’al Yaniff.

In the short span of fifteen minutes, she was already referring to him as “my boy.” While she also referred to Rejar in this manner, it was not quite the same. For one thing, Rejar never expected Traed to put up with it. For the second, it was difficult to conceive of anyone referring to an Aviaran warrior, especially one like Traed, as “my boy.”

If the truth were known, Traed was somewhat at a loss as to how to deal with the elderly woman. Never having known the kindness of a mother’s touch, he was completely out of his depth with the display of caring concern from Lady Whumples.

In typical Traed fashion, he decided to tolerate it until he understood it better.

“Prince Nickolai tells me you are his brother, yet you do not go by a title. I find this very confusing. I’m too old to be purposely confused, my boy—I don’t take well to it.”

Traed raised an eyebrow at Agatha.

“Well?” Agatha pierced him with one of her “you must answer” expressions.

Lilac recognized it as such immediately and hoped Nickolai’s brother was wise enough to heed it. The ramifications if one did not were too unspeakable to bear. It appeared the brother was no fool, for he set his wineglass down on the table to answer her straightaway.

“Nickolai”—Traed turned to give Rejar a pointed look—”and I do not share the same father. I do not use a title because it does not suit me to do so.”

Agatha knit her brow. Did that mean he had a title or not? “Yes, my boy, but are you entitled to a show of respect by a proper title?”

“Is not everyone?”

The man was very circumspect. Agatha tried to worm her way around his answer. “But... are you Russian?”

“Russian?” he looked perplexed. “No, I am not Russian.”

Patience at an end, Agatha bellowed, “Where do your father’s people come from?”

“The Sky Lands of—”

Rejar coughed loudly, interrupting Traed’s words.

“The Highlands?” Agatha asked, mishearing him over the Prince’s sudden coughing fit.

“I knew it! He’s a heathen Scotsman!” Emmy mumbled loudly to herself as she cleared away a plate from the table.

How could he be a Highlander if his brother was a Russian Prince? Agatha was confused. It was very difficult to get a straight answer out of the man. He seemed to keep his business to himself. Still, he seemed honest enough in his answers, almost to the point of bluntness.

Well, she liked him nonetheless. There was something there ... a certain gentleness he tried very hard to conceal beneath a tough exterior. He probably succeeded in fooling most—but not her.

When it came to people, Agatha had insight.

This man had a good, decent quality about him, denoting strong character. Her sights went proudly to her new nephew sitting across the table from her.

And why shouldn’t the man be of good stock? Just look where he came from—now here was a specimen! She winked secretly at the Prince. Grinning, he covertly winked back.

Throughout the meal, her niece appeared slightly flustered. Lilac and Nickolai had been late coming down to dinner and when they did finally arrive. Lilac had a nice, rosy flush on her face. Agatha noted that her niece did not seem quite so acetic to his Highness now. On the contrary. Her niece could not seem to look at him without blushing prettily.

Agatha let out a sigh of relief. She had done the right thing.

* * *

After the meal, they all retired to the drawing room. Lilac recalled that both men had given her aunt the strangest look when she asked them if they would like the ladies to leave the room so they might partake of some port. Nickolai had then turned to her aunt asking her if she would like some of this “port.” Auntie Whumples had tittered that she had often been tempted, before she apparently came to her senses and suggested they all go into the drawing room.

The brothers just looked at each other with foggy expressions.

Lilac supposed the men of Russia did not indulge in port. One could not speculate what the men of the Highlands did, being Scotsmen. She made a mental note to ask Nickolai’s brother about a lurid rumor she had heard regarding something called haggis.

She was not surprised when Nickolai sat right next to her on the couch. For some reason, he always liked to be near her. It was very ... She swallowed. Catlike.

No, she promised herself she would not think about it. Determined, she squelched the allusion.

Auntie asked Nickolai something about how he was settling in so Lilac took the opportunity to speak to Nickolai’s brother. He was about to sit across from her on one of Auntie’s few odd purchases—a Greek Revival chair. She noticed him curiously examine the chair’s winged paw feet, only to throw a speculative glance at his brother.

Lilac smiled. “Nickolai had nothing to do with it. I’m afraid it wasn’t a very good shopping day for my aunt.”

“Ah.” He sat down in the chair, although she couldn’t say he actually relaxed. He did not seem like a man who ever truly relaxed.

“I believe I owe you an apology. You must think me terribly rude. It’s just that I was ... was ...” How did she explain it?

“You were angry with ... Nickolai.” He finished for her. “He had upset you in some way. I understand this. There is no need for you to apologize.”

Lilac was surprised at his comprehension of the situation. Then again, being Nickolai’s brother, he was probably well acquainted with how irascible the man could be. It was curious—every time he said Nickolai’s name, he appeared to have trouble with it—almost as if it were choking in his throat. In any event, it seemed obvious to her that he knew nothing of his brother’s questionable activities with the darker arts. In fact, the brother seemed most... pedantic.

“That is so kind of you ... May I call you Trey? Since it seems we are now related?”

Traed stared at her. Her innocent words had a profound effect on him. Yes, they were related. Rejar had mated with her. She was blood to him now. His oath of Chi’in t’se Leau would cloak her as well. And he supposed that by association, he would have to watch over the “aunt” too.

He frowned absently. When he started out on this journey, he had no idea what Yaniff was getting him into.

Rejar’s mate watched him expectantly, her large green eyes open and guileless. How had this innocent ever fallen into the hands of his Familiar brother-of-the-line? There was no doubt in Traed’s mind but that she was untouched. Or at least, she had been.

It was certainly an unprecedented event.

Everyone knew a Familiar’s tastes usually ran to those more ... sophisticated. So how had Rejar come to this passage? And would it not be interesting to press him to find out? A brief wily smile flashed across his face.