Salome at Sunrise (21 page)

Bryton was hard, heated silk over iron that grew warmer and firmer with her touch. Her fingers wrapped around him and stroked, gently, tentatively. Hips driving into her palm, he curled his hand around hers, tightened her grip, increased her speed. She learned his rhythm and he grew harder. His hand fell away, his eyes slid closed and his head fell back, surrendering to her touch.

Pure feminine power rushed into her blood. He was at his most vulnerable, emotionally and physically, yet trusted her. He could have stopped her, removed her hands, taken over and bedded her. Instead, he submitted to her efforts until she gained confidence.

“Salome.” Her name was a whispered moan.

Her lips circled his tip and he hissed. A song of sensual pleasure vibrated in his blood, throbbed through his veins and pulsed against her tongue. She mimicked his intimate kisses, using her lips and hands. Men were very different and she had to improvise and experiment. Her discovery empowered her. His swift breathing thrilled her.

A quivering ache coiled inside her. It deepened as she took more of his length. The course of trial and play proved enlightening. Swirling her tongue made him pant. Sliding her mouth to the pulsating vein beneath tightened his jaw. Her hand stroking to meet her lips rocked his hips. Brave from his reactions, she took him into her mouth and swallowed.

Slick liquid grew between her thighs, his pleasure heightening hers. The tie in her hair released at his tug, spilling her hair around her shoulders. He fisted her curls and thrust his hips. The pounding of his heart increased, and his guttural purr enthralled her.

Bryton jerked away, tugging his breeches off and pulling her to a crushing embrace. The frantic flick of his tongue across hers stole her breath. Her gasp raked tight, aching nipples across his chest. Caught between them, firm heat dug into her belly as he feasted on her mouth. He stepped back, drawing her to the pallet. Alcohol still pumped through his veins, the inebriation sped by desire and cathartic release. He stumbled and landed ass-first on the ticking. Salome crashed on top of him.

The unfamiliar position jolted her with possibilities. Aggressively crawling up his body, she leaned over him, her hair spilling onto his shoulder. He rose to capture her kiss. He allowed her to push him back to the pallet, to rub against him in sensual friction, to nip and nuzzle where she liked. She felt every silken tether that bound his yearning and set to unknot each one.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the line of his brow, down his cheekbone, up his nose, down the other cheek to his lips. His tongue flicked out to taste her, but she moved to his neck with its thick cords. Bryton watched her explore with a sultry fire in his gaze. The perusal twanged through her with delicious tension, like running a finger over a too-tightly drawn harp string. She traced over his Adam’s apple, his collarbone, down his chest, around his flat nipples, into his navel, with feather-light caresses. Hot, damp skin slid under her palms. His hands fisted and a muscle twitched beneath his eye. Her fingers delved to his inner thigh and his body shuddered.

Feminine command rolled through her, thunder through a summer sky, shaking her bones with power and force. Her body grew lush and heavy with desire as she kissed a line of hot wet kisses down his face. Her lips traced from his dagger mark to his stomach down his hip. A quick loud breath scored the air. The glistening path from her tongue trailed below his navel and his hands buried in her hair. She lapped at his tip before circling her lips around silken iron. A strangled cry sprung from his mouth.

“No more, please, Salome, I need you…now.”

The raspy plea stirred a deep longing. Salome needed Bryton. She straddled his waist, dragging her damp, empty center over him. He growled beneath her kiss. She pressed her chest against his, thousands of new sensations flooding her at once: the heat of his body, the texture of his skin so different from hers, the scent of his hair, the scratch of his shadowed cheek.

He clasped her hips, lifted, moved, then lowered her. Softness yielded willingly to hardness in a long, slow glide. The entry took both of their breaths and the connection stunned them into immobility. Their eyes locked and their hearts began to drum as one. His hips meeting hers tore a satisfied moan from her throat and he stilled. Every line of his body shifted. Low and deep, his voice quavered with harnessed control.

“Hurt?”

She shook her head. “Heaven.”

Bryton grasped her hips, pulling her even closer, forcing a sigh from her lips, echoed by his own. Deep within her, his pulse raged, echoing through her blood.

A lightning flash of passion scorched liquid fire throughout her body, clamping her muscles around him. Nothing could ever compare to the sensation of being both stretched and filled at the same time, to the magic of man within woman. She rocked back and forth and up and down, squeezing and caressing him. His head jammed back with a gasp.

Both his hands stroked down her spine, the slow glide of roughened skin ratcheting sensations to a new level. His touch wasn’t gentle, wasn’t pawing, but somewhere in between, the perfect balance of a coarse caress. Those battle-hewn hands cradled her breasts, peaked crests digging into his palms. With each breath she drew him further into her soul, sucking in the scent of masculine surrender and famished need. Each movement tweaked her swollen nub and she fought against the rising need to yield.

Bryton launched a counterattack. Fingers spread wide, he stroked from her collarbone to her stomach and lower. His thumb sank deep into her melting flesh, circling over the bundled knot until her hips twitched. Flight beckoned and she had no power to resist.

A whirlwind spun hard inside her, the tight funnel of energy drawing her muscles taut and quivering. One tweaked brush of his thumb and the cyclone exploded. Force ricocheted through her in bursts of lights. Pitches sang, each full-bodied and in perfect clarity, along an undulating scale. Her head snapped back and her cry of release vaulted toward the rock ceiling.

Her thighs gripped hard along his hips. Wet flesh pulsed in rhythmic clenches around him. His grunt clamped his hands around her ass, grounding her through the turbulent flight. He steadied her as the whirlwind swirled, peaked and ebbed. Bliss wafted in the aftermath. She gasped, greedily sucking air flavored with the rich fragrance of love and nature.

He rolled her beneath him, levered himself high between her thighs and plunged deep in one move. It was not without ache, that fine thread between pleasure and pain stretched to the finest, and Salome whimpered.

Bryton froze. The muscles in his back twitched with his restraint. A maelstrom vibrated in his essence, tingeing his spirit with flashes of gold. He needed her hard and without tenderness but his honor demanded he be gentle, go slow. Salome didn’t want his honor, spit-polished and pageant-ready. She wanted him—scars, rough spots and armor chinks. She wanted all of him, the pretty and the harsh.

Blazing blue eyes locked with hers and a fissure in his guarded heart widened. Her heart swelled, calling to his. A hushed mystic whisper brushed her essence, his soul to hers with a desperate plea.

S
ave me
.

Let me,
she begged.

Alcohol and poignant understanding stripped his fragile shields away. Every ounce of her devotion, every drop of her serenity, every morsel of her love she gave to him in a single kiss. Lips on lips, tongue on tongue, breath with breath, Salome loved Bryton. A sigh slipped from her lips to his.

She smoothed her hands along his shoulders and rocked, urging him to take. He took, moving cautiously, a line of sweat blooming on his lip. Not enough, it wasn’t enough. Refinement could not ease her. Instinct raged. She surged beneath him, thrusting up. Her teeth sank into the flesh above his shoulder and her nails stabbed into his sides. Bryton snapped.

Acidic emotion had scourged him raw, and the whiskey left him with no restraint. Hunger growled through him, took hold, and he had no resolve left to temper it. An animalistic snarl reverberated off the stone walls as he drove fast and hard. The feral shade in his aura crashed into her, driving to the center of her essence in a spiked lance of vibrant glowing red.

Civility tore away, leaving only him, her and the bloodlust. Rearing back, he slammed his forearms under her legs, raising her knees to her shoulders, curving her hips into his deepest thrusts. With her thighs spread wide, he claimed every inch that clung tightly around him. His hard, punishing strokes creaked the pine boughs but she welcomed every twinge.

This was love at its most basic, most primal level. His soul was laid bare and he shared it with her, trusted her to accept him at his most vulnerable, as if she could do any less. The gift was precious. It twined through her bones, burrowed into her marrow. For this moment in time, Bryton loved her. She clung to it. The tiny bit of offered love took root, flickered then exploded. A rolling high C sang through her as she flew in his embrace. The timbre echoed, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper.

“Salome!” His breath hissed through his gritted teeth. Wet heat filled her on a groan. Feral red flashed to scorching violet. Slowly it dimmed to rosy pink then sank to paleness. He released her legs and she crossed her feet behind his thighs, drawing him closer. Tattered breath heated her skin as he collapsed in her arms.

A sob shuddered through him. Release had drained his strength and he wept in finally freed grief. His tears singed the curve of her neck. Sorrow bled to heartache to loneliness then to loss. Normal progressions of mourning his guilt had never allowed swept through the chamber. It cleansed him, purged his soul, stripped the bitterness away.

Empathetic salt stung her eyes. This he must face but she would not let him face it alone. Her embrace was his comfort. She gave him her strength when his was weakest. She soothed with wordless touch. Kissing his temple and fingering his hair, Salome cradled him until his thundering heartbeat slowed and his sobs faded.

A jerk straightened his spine and he propped on one elbow, searching her face, a concerned fright wrinkling his brow. Salome smiled and stroked his damp cheek, silently answering his unspoken question. He had not hurt her. He had trusted her. He had shown her his soul, raw and bleeding. He had loved her and begun to heal. She loved him and would forevermore.

Their lips did not steal a kiss, did not take one or claim one. They shared one, as two halves of a whole. Words were useless, powerless, nonexistent for the union that formed. Not made of iron or silk, rope or vine, it joined their souls with an awesome force. It came from the strength of a man and the softness of a woman. It had no match. Love bonded them beyond magic. It bonded them as mates for the little time granted them.

“You idiot!” Karok cracked him across the face then thrust the man away, not caring or noticing when he stumbled over the bare feet of his tied pet. She whimpered and pulled her legs tighter to her rounded belly, pressing closer to the table she was tethered to, tried to crawl under it.

Chakor caught himself on the chipped stone edge and stood, righting the black patch over his missing eye. “There was no one there! Four men watched the woods. Druka and myself went inside and nothing! I swear it.”

Karok growled and kicked the loose piles of kindling. Shards and splinters scattered across the ancient sanctuary. What kind of man sends word he wants a meeting then does not have the balls to show up and get caught in his own web? This country and its ways made no sense. Maybe he should torch the entire fucking place and be done with it.

He rubbed his head, the tender places where part of his braid had been stinging. No, Twylea was testing him, judging his worthiness. He would not fail her. The depiction of her wings on his chest spread wide as he drew a deep cleansing breath. “The goldsmith, the one who talks to you, what’s his name?”

“Zenor.”

“Find him,” Karok snapped. “Get more information on this friend of mine.”

“He has none. I tried.”

Karok’s smile inched coldly along his lips. “Then kill him. Maybe my friend will get the message and come to me himself.”

“Can I have his heart?”

A careless wave deepened the lines into the burn scars around Chakor’s one visible eye and he bounded out of the room like an eager puppy. Of all his men, Chakor was his most trusted. Still, Karok would gut him like a fish if he failed.

A whimpering dragged his sight back to his pet and a stirring grew in his pants. There was one thing he loved about this new land: the golden-haired women. Those in his homeland were all dark-haired, ranging from maple to mahogany. Here the fair blond locks entranced both him and his men. His eyes raked over her to her hard belly. Maybe his son would carry her hair. That would be perfect. A golden-haired, golden-skinned king to sit on the newly claimed throne of Eldw—No, the first thing he would do is rename this bastard land. Twylone, the land of Twylea, Goddess of the Skies.

Karok strode to his pet, yanked her to her feet by those glorious long gold curls. He shoved her face-first to the altar and jerked his pants down. She didn’t even cry out as he thrust into her dry and hard. She’d give him a son or he’d feed both her and the brat to the vultures as a sacrifice.

The shorter arrows took time to learn. Bryton’s bow was designed for his long span, his greater pull, so mastering the reduced draw filled the daylight. The hiss of split wind and the
thwunk
of striking his target repeated with never-wavering determination. The wert berries stewed with the apothecary’s herbs until a vile stench wrinkled Salome’s nose. Bryton dipped each broadhead in the thick cooled paste, letting them dry in the sun for a full day for the poison to set. Stone ground on metal with an eerie rasp as he filed his blades to the sharpest edge.

He marked the trail leading to the Skullmen’s church with long hairs plucked from his own head and knotted tightly. Each day he went to check, to see how many were broken, guess how many had ventured through the passageway. The town below became his children and he guarded them with a father’s fierce loyalty, checking for footprints in the soft earth leading down the mountain.

He ventured below once, bringing back news that no new killings had been reported save for a goldsmith who was found carved like an overfat pheasant. The dark orange cheese he brought Salome was shared with slices of dried pear soaked in a liquid he called rum. The succulent tastes melded on her tongue. She shared this too with him, sipping at his lips and nipping his jaw.

Bryton fell into long silences but they were not the darkly tinged suffering of before. Now his aura swirled with the muted glow of recovery. His hate still burned bright indigo but a softer green grew. Healing, like springtime, did not come overnight. Katina was no longer a festering sore but a slow-healing wound that he would always carry, but without the agony.

Salome watched from the air as he twirled and swung, hefting the sword, the dagger, the labrys time and again, practicing the moves of his final battle. His shoulder pained him and he went to swim in the heated waters of the inlet, to let the warmth work the knots from his muscles. He tried to get her to swim with him but she laughed him off, preferring to peek between the branches as the water licked at his skin. They loved, rolling in the green meadow of his practice field or the dimmed light of their shared cavern.

Time had a duality. It stood still while she basked in every moment spent with him, yet it hurled by faster than the shaft of his arrow. The day approached when he would seek out his revenge, deliver his justice. It hung in the shadows of night like a wolf stalking a rabbit, waiting to lunge and unleash its harnessed threat. Fear pulsed in her blood with a rising beat. Drums echoed in her essence, the drums of battle that would soon rip him from her arms forever.

He slept, the scents of their loving thick in the cavern and his body worn from his training. Leaf curled behind his legs and raised her furry head as Salome slid from his embrace. She crept from the pallet, stroking her fingers over his lips. Even in sleep they puckered to her touch. The crisp air swirled over her skin and she drew a deep breath, held it in her human lungs. The first victims of dawn, the stars winked out one by one and she watched them, counted them as they faded to nothingness.

If she were human, she might have prayed or wished on one of those dying lights. But she wasn’t, so she held her longing close and caressed each memory. It would have to be enough. A bittersweet song trembled in her breast. It was a good thing her heart would not beat much longer. A broken instrument could never play in perfect tune again.

Dawn waited, the horizon lightening and pushing back the deep purple night but not yet spilling the glorious gold over the earth. Bryton watched Salome, let his gaze caress her face, stroke her cheeks, feel her calm. Daybreak was her time, her quiet solitude when she gathered her peace and tuned her soul to nature’s song.

“What’s it like to fly, Salome?”

He’d always wondered. Once as a young boy, Taric had talked him into jumping from the barn roof using a bedsheet for wings. Bryton had spent six long weeks in a splint. Taric had to stand through two suppers, his paddled rump too sore for even the most cushioned seat.

Salome’s smile transformed her face from serene to secretive. Rounded cheeks rose high and mischievous lights danced in her eyes. “Would you like to fly with me?”

A naughty grin heated his face. “I think we did that, several times.”

Her laugh, trilling like a meadowlark’s song, wrapped around him. “I meant with wings.”

“How?” He chuckled. “I think I’m a bit big even for your eagle, sweetling. Besides, those talons are sharp.”

Salome leaned forward, her eyes searching his. A supernatural stillness fell around her. The lilting cadence of her voice called to him. “You have magic. I can use that, if you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

Her face moved closer. The sweet honey of her skin teased his nose. He didn’t blink when silver flashed in her eyes. A faraway dulcimer blended with a lute. Her hand landed above his heart, one fingertip brushing his dagger mark. Whispered enchantment vibrated on a breeze. “Open your heart, Bryton. Let me in and fly with me.”

The rolling beat beneath her palm intensified. Magic tremored through him, and his vision blazed to white. No gifted sight came, just the gentle caress of her hand. It reached into his skin, past his ribs, delved deeper than his muscles. It stroked some warm, soft force inside him. He willed that spot to accept her and painless fire bolted through him, a lightning crack of intense sensation.

Music embraced light and became a solid thing. It tugged at him and he stood, letting it guide his blind path. There was no rock beneath his feet, no sense of falling or floating. His entire being was weightless and airy but power pulsed under his skin. Wind kissed his face, streamed through his hair, flowed like water over his shoulders, his chest and back. Salome’s breath warmed his ear.

“Magic to magic and heart to heart,

Free to fly and earth depart,

Wings of mine I grant to thee,

Open thy eyes, behold what I see.”

A bright blue roared to life in his eyes and his breath caught. Endless sky stretched before him. A line of sizzling fire crackled along the edge, the sun breaching the mountaintops. He turned his head. Salome, falcon-formed and beautiful, flew beside him. Flew? Beside him? A dark brown wing caught the corner of his vision and he moved his shoulder. The wing flapped, pushing against air. He laughed and a caw pealed loud. Salome smiled at him. How he knew she smiled with no lips he couldn’t say, but there was a smile on her feathered cheeks.

Below, the churning tides lapped at a white shore and the dark blue ocean melted into a palette of hues. He could barely tell where the water ended and the air began. The heavens were his playing field. The wind was his guide. The wings were his strength. Salome stretched her neck and shot forward. Bryton lunged and rolled his arms. He caught, equaled, passed by her. Freedom roiled through him and he surrendered to it.

Salome flew below him, steady and straight, while he dipped, dove and climbed all for the sheer joy of it. With just a slight angle, he coasted down, gliding beside her.

“Is it always like this?”

“Yes. On wind and air, I live. In your arms, I love. Fly with me, my charge. Fly with me and greet the dawn.”

The sun burst from behind the mountain rim. Crystals of gold sparkled on her wings, gilded her to a polished gleam. Beauty so vibrant he ached with it filled the sky. Every color known and some he couldn’t name bent and warped through the sunrise. Harmony lured him with a morning lullaby. Salome flew closer. Her wingtip brushed his and he quivered with emotion.

He didn’t tire and time slipped by. The clouds became white, and peach slipped away into blue. Salome circled and he followed, curving his flight to rise under her breast. Tiny feet tucked back, reached down and tickled him. He chuckled with a melody, rolling to the side. Together they aimed toward the rising cliffside.

A swallow stuck in his throat. He was still there, Salome kneeling before his body, their eyes closed, her palm pressed tight to his chest. Wind trickled through the feathers along his brow, and then there was nothing but white. He opened his eyes and Salome sat back, a wide smile on her face.

The ground was hard, harder than before, and colder. His body felt heavy, too solid and foreign, as if water weighted his moves. Morning was full high and the sky shone clear and dazzling. Stiff legs flexed as he sat upright. “Did I imagine that?”

“No. I have no power to change your human form so I simply granted your essence wings to fly with me. For a brief time, your spirit was a bird, Bryton. Your humanity held your body here. The purity of Myla’s gifted magic provided our connection and—” her chin ducked and a pink blush shaded her face, “—your affection toward me accepted it.”

“Affection?”

A twitch irked her lip. “Should I call it by another name?”

Love,
his heart screamed but his mouth stayed silent. He cupped her cheek, the stubborn curl flicking at his wrist. Twilight, her eyes were twilight, silver-gray with touches of dusky violet that urged him to rest his head in her lap and do nothing but soak in her sweetness.

“I have to go. It’s time.”

Her eyelids slammed shut and she nodded. “Leaf? What shall I do about her?”

He’d forgotten all about the kitten. It was too young to fend for itself and too spoiled to forage. She would become prey if not cared for. “There are farms not far from here. She’d grow fat chasing mice and begging for scraps.”

A liquidy inhale opened her eyes and she swallowed. “Then I shall take her to one after you…before I leave this world.”

“Jester, too. Take him. He’ll be some farmer’s prize.” Her head bobbed quickly. “What will happen to you, Salome, if I die today?”

“I shall be with you until your spirit flies. Your peace will come with death and I will return to where I came.”

The shielded pain on her face, the stiffened lips, the quivering chin, the tears she refused to let fall, stabbed at him. A fragile hope flickered to life in his chest. “What if I don’t die? What if…what if I survive and win?”

A tear slipped over her lashes and burned his hand. “Then I shall rejoice with you. Your peace will have been found and I will return to where I came.”

The hope flickered out, like a candle blown by the wind. Heavy weight lodged in his stomach. She was never his to hold. She was a gift, her love a blessing in his darkest hour, her presence a comfort at his final moment. Thanks were inadequate. Some gifts have no measure. But he had to try. He owed her that much.

Fiery, passionate words itched on his tongue. He swallowed them and let more humble terms loose. “Thank you. No matter what happens, you did your duty. You gave me…comfort…joy…tenderness…love.”

Her stifled sob pressed into his palm. Silken lips parted under his and he lost track of the kisses. Pulling from her embrace forced him to dig deep for strength.

She stayed on the ledge, watching the sun as he dressed. The soft gray tunic offered far less protection than chain mail or armor but made fast, silent movements possible. His fingers strayed to his dagger mark, then he firmed his jaw and gathered his weapons. Poison-tipped arrows filled his quiver along with a small glass vial of whiskey wrapped in soft cotton. Three steel cutting stars dipped in the toxic paste lined his pouch next to a bit of flint. His dagger strapped to his belt, his sword sheathed at his hip, the labrys hung crosswise on his back. He added two knives to his boots.

The cavern walls drew his gaze and he looked around, seeing Salome in every crevice. The ledge where she lined their supplies, the stone ring she sang beside, the bed where they loved. His sight landed on the spoon she had an odd affection for lying forlornly on the rock. Without thinking, he picked it up and tucked it in his pouch. It had been held by her, touched her lips. Sucking in a bracing breath, he exited the cave.