Training the Warrior (23 page)

Tears welled in Lydia’s eyes, reducing her
arousal.

“Forgive me, mistress. I can’t stop. She’s
mine.” His voice sounded gruffer with each word.

“I know this. And I wish you and Lydia good
fortune. You couldn’t have chosen a better female.”

“I’m grateful,” Taelor said, ending the
sentiment with a growl.

Despite her own tears and soft sobs, Lydia
heard a soft click, which signaled the connection was broken. She’d never guessed
Mistress Breanne considered retiring, much less that the woman thought of
naming her as the next head mistress. Lydia had cried as soon as the head mistress
had told Taelor she considered her a daughter. Mistress Breanne had always been
a mother figure to her.

Lydia wiped her tears, trying to stop the
flow. Taelor’s voice calling to her didn’t help in the least.

“Join me, Lydia. I know you’re at the door,
listening.”

Damn his sensitive ears
. After a second,
she opened the door and walked out of the bathroom. Lydia didn’t bother trying
to hide the tears running unchecked down her cheeks. She flipped her damp hair
back away from her face with one hand while keeping her towel in place around
her body with the other and faced her warrior.

*

Taelor took in the sight of her, starting
at her legs and trailing up to her lovely thighs. He had seen her naked already
and she was beautiful, but right now, wrapped in his bath towel, she was
exquisite—and his. He skimmed over her draped figure and his gaze fixed for a
second on her cleavage. Delicious curves made his mouth water for a taste. He
focused on her face and his world shattered. She was crying. Tears streamed
down her delicate cheeks. It reminded him of…Norlana.

Fury gripped him along with self-loathing.
He drowned in a violent sea of claiming lust, barely able to hold back his
desire to pounce and cover her with his scent. Now he was faced with the truth.
She was unhappy with him.

He could take her, make her want him. His
scent alone would make her a willing mate, but her tears told him otherwise.
Like Norlana, she would eventually leave him, perhaps taking the only escape
available to her. He wouldn’t allow his mate to suffer such torment. Taelor
knew what he had to do. There was only one solution, but he’d need his partner’s
help.

*

Taelor’s change in expression was
unexpected and terrifying. The giant warrior looked as if he wanted to destroy
something. Lydia wasn’t quite sure what. As he lurched toward her, she managed
to scurry back a few steps before he grabbed her. His fists closed tight around
her upper arms and he jerked her to him. Mere inches separated them. In the
midst of her fear, she realized he had a towel draped around his waist and his
forearms were free of restraints. She tried frantically to think of anything
that might have caused his rage. No answer came to mind.

Lydia’s head fell back as she stared at him
wide-eyed. She trembled, fearful of his wrath at that moment. His lips were
curled up in a savage snarl, sharp teeth exposed. Gold eyes narrowed with
murderous intent.

In the next instant, he half dragged, half
carried her into the main room. Once there, he shoved her away from him,
releasing her from his vicious grasp as he turned his back on her. Speechless
and terrified by his manner, Lydia gaped at his naked back. Her warrior was
insane.

“Jarrok!” He roared his partner’s name.

The door to Taelor’s room opened just as
soon as the echo of his roar faded. Jarrok stood in the doorway, looking
extremely uncomfortable and uncertain. Taelor thrust his arm out toward Jarrok,
palm up.

“Give me your dagger.”

Jarrok pulled a weapon from his belt and
tossed it to Taelor. He gave Lydia a brief glance while trying to back out the
door.

“No! Stay! You must witness this so no harm
comes to this female.”

Okay, that was good. No harm to the female
was a good thing, Lydia thought, since she was the only female present, but
what the hell was going on?

Taelor turned to face her. His expression
had changed from anger to adoration. He held Jarrok’s dagger out to her,
practically shoving it at her.

“I won’t claim another female who is
unwilling to be my mate.”

Lydia shook her head, not understanding
what he meant.

“Take it, Lydia!”

Automatically reacting to his order, she
reached for the handle, her hand shaking. “No, Taelor. I don’t want this…”
Lydia couldn’t bring herself to grab the handle.

“If you don’t kill me, right now, I will claim
you.” He snarled at her viciously, even though his golden eyes gazed warmly at
her, filled with yearning. “I don’t want an unwilling mate, Lydia.”

“Taelor, no…don’t…”

He tilted his head down and spoke softly. “Your
tears destroy me. Kill me now before I claim you. End my life and live yours.
Be happy.”

Understanding dawned. Lydia snatched the
dagger from his hand. The big oaf thought she was crying tears of unhappiness?
Tauran females cried, but only when they were unhappy. He’d forgotten Mistress
Breanne’s instructions. Lydia wasn’t Tauran. She was a sentimental human,
capable of crying for any damn reason. In fact, she didn’t have to have a
reason. And right now, she just might shed a few angry, pissed off tears. How
dare he shove a dagger in her face and expect her to kill him?
Pussy warrior.

Well, she’d show him.

Lydia had to reach up to accomplish the
task, but she managed to press the blade point against his skin directly over
his heart. She noticed, with some satisfaction, he jerked at the touch. If she
really intended on sinking the blade into his chest, she’d need a stool to
stand on to provide more leverage. Her combined strength and weight would never
deliver a lethal strike. He was much too tall and large. And she was intensely
aware he watched her, still waiting for her to kill him.

“Close your eyes!”

Relief washed over her when he obeyed. How
could you kill someone who was looking at you with so much desire? More
important, how could she plan her next move with him staring at her like that?

Lydia lowered her arm, letting the dagger
blade rest against his chest and glanced at Jarrok.

“Leave us.” As the warrior shook his head,
she said, “I don’t need your help. I’ll call you to remove his carcass when I’m
done.”

Drawing on her teaching skills, she’d put
as much coldness into her words as she could. Her uncaring tone must have
worked. Jarrok retreated, not happily, but he left. The door snapped shut.

“If your first thrust with the blade doesn’t
pierce my heart, Jarrok could legally help.”

“I won’t need Jarrok’s help,” Lydia
responded nastily. “Don’t talk!”

She winced at the abruptness of her own
order. He made her nervous enough without talking.
God. He smells good.
Hopefully he was just as edgy, what with a dagger blade pressing against his
muscle-bound chest. Without a doubt, she’d want to kill anyone who tried to mar
such a fine specimen, but this was no time to dwell on his wonderful physique.

She lifted the blade and ran the tip
lightly over his tawny skin. Trailing downward, she circled the point around
one of his nipples, tracing the dusky patch of skin. He shivered but kept
silent. His breathing quickened. Worried she might accidentally cut him, Lydia
replaced the dagger tip with the sharp fingernail of her right forefinger. She
always kept her nails filed to sharp points in the Tauran fashion.

Lydia scraped her nail across his smooth,
hairless chest and stopped at his other nipple, repeating her previous
movements. She walked around him, slowly following her finger on an exploratory
journey of his body. Her nail slid over one massive bicep on its way around his
side. After she was behind him, she had to force herself not to stop and
massage his broad, muscle-bound shoulders. Thick, silky strands of damp,
multi-hued hair flowed midway down his back. Her mind reeled from the image of
him taking her while she raked her nails over every dip and curve of his
powerful back. Thankfully, the towel wrapped around his waist hid his hips and
ass. She was sure they’d be her undoing if it were to suddenly fall to the
floor.

She restrained her desire and completed
tracing the point of her nail across his back. On the way, she noticed a large
bowl of fruit sitting on a sofa-like table. It was easily within reach. She
stabbed the dagger into the closest fruit, leaving it there for safekeeping.

 Lydia finished her journey by stroking her
nail along a large vein that ran over his other bicep before she stood in front
of him again. She’d been extra careful to avoid touching his forearm sheaths,
especially the area around his wrists where his marking glands were located. If
she were to carelessly stroke such an erogenous zone in his present state she’d
no doubt find herself thrown to the floor and mounted in a heartbeat. As it
was, his breathing was extremely labored. She watched a small muscle alongside
his jaw contract. It was a good indication he wanted to say something in the
worst way. His restraint was impressive.

Thoroughly enjoying the moment, Lydia grinned
as she slid her nail down his abdomen, probing the deep grooves between his
abs, back and forth. As he released a tormented groan, she stopped immediately
to look at him. His eyes were still closed, but he was starting to sweat. She
cocked a mischievous brow and continued exploring, wondering how much longer
her mate would keep her waiting.

She brought her nail to a stop once it
reached his bellybutton. She studied the thin trail of light brown masculine
hair running down from his navel until it disappeared beneath the towel. With
both hands, she grabbed the top of it where he had it tucked securely. She
peeked at him to catch his reaction as she ripped it away from his hips.

His eyelids sprang open as he gasped. Her
gaze narrowed into a practiced glare. Wild-eyed with surprise and need, he briefly
glanced at her. Then, before she could order him to, he shut his eyes.

Lydia admired him in all his naked,
oversized glory. He was handsome, everywhere. His enormous cock jutted out,
hard with desire. A rush of moisture bathed her channel at the sight. She had
no doubt he’d scent her arousal soon if he hadn’t already. She wanted to tackle
him without further delay, but her warrior was in desperate need of training.

“How dare you ask me to kill you? Have you
no respect for women?”

“I…do…what?” He stuttered the words, eyes
closed tight.

Her warrior was obviously confused, just as
she intended. She jabbed a sharp-nailed finger against his chest.

 “You take me from my work, tell everyone I’m
yours. Your mate! You kidnap me and bring me to your bedroom. Then you say I
stink and insist I shower. And now, after all that, you grow weak from my tears
and expect me to kill you? I’m human. I was crying because I was happy! If you
want to die, then do the deed yourself. I want a strong warrior who’s proud of
me, who wants me. I don’t desire a weak warrior’s blood on my clean towel!”

There.
That should shift his focus, she
hoped. She tossed her own towel to the floor as she turned and sprinted toward
his bedroom.

The infuriated roars following her retreat
were music to her ears.

*

Taelor sucked in another deep breath as
Lydia fled from him. He let out a second roar. She had to be one of most
infuriating females he’d ever met. Her taunting insults enraged him while the
smell of her arousal made him ache with desire. His soon-to-be mate accused him
of weakness and questioned his respect of women.
She is insane.

No one accused him of such a thing and
lived. He wasn’t weak in any way. Yet she’d just offended him beyond all
tolerance. Feeling trapped by his own frustration, he roared once again before
gaining the ability to move his feet.

Before he could chase after her, the door
to his quarters burst open and Jarrok rushed inside. His partner came to an
abrupt halt, staring in shock at Taelor’s very much alive and uninjured nude
body.

“Get out!” Taelor barked out the order.

“Going!” Jarrok’s expression was a mix of
apprehension and amusement. After exiting, his partner slammed the door shut,
and from the safety of the hallway, he yelled, “Don’t let her hide my dagger up
your ass!”

Ignoring his partner’s taunt, he stomped
into the bedroom. His attention immediately centered on the female who climbed
onto his bed. She appeared small and delicate as she crawled across the lavish
bedding. He stumbled to a halt, mesmerized by the sight of her glorious form on
all fours in the middle of his large mattress. Her heart-shaped ass beckoned
him. After she reached the headboard and lifted to kneel while she gripped the
top of the railing with both hands, a tremor of pure need ripped through him.
She swayed her hips back and forth while tossing her lovely long, black hair to
the side with a quick jerk of her head. She looked back at him over one smooth
shoulder, her green-eyed gaze locked on to him, and swiped her tongue over her
bottom lip.