Capture of a Heart (2 page)

Thunder continued to rumble miles away as Shoraya finally turned around to face the soldiers. Annoyed, she thought back to the day she had left her mountain home, with the intention of education and exploration, not combat. She had visited several villages, forests, and plains already. A swamp, even. She had taken her lessons from the elements native to different terrains. She had learned a good deal, but from man—she had found nothing to study.

This captain of the sea and his men were no different than the warriors who bore the serpent emblem or the ones with the tortoise or great raptor, who had all sought the very same thing from her. She had no intention of bolstering the might of any kingdom, training men how to take lives or strike fear in others. Her blades were not meant for such pursuits as she gave the same answer to the sea that she had given to the swamp.

Shoraya stretched her arms outward as the first droplets of rain splashed against her skin. “I will not, but I
will
dance for you.”

All eyes were on her, but the only pair that mattered belonged to the man standing in front of her, glistening with both determination and caution. When Tarek took the first tentative step toward her, Shoraya was prepared. The warriors that stood ready to subdue her were no different than those who had come before, and neither was their leader. His first movement was a forceful slash with little reserve, even if he did intend to take her prisoner.

She avoided his first three blows with ease, spinning just out of the paths of sweeping arcs. Without even drawing her blades, she danced outside the range of sword points and edges, moving as a river might if it had been disturbed by a plummeting rock. Even weighted down by fifty-some pounds of plate armor, the warrior moved quickly as well. She could, after a time, understand why Tarek carried the rank of leader. If she had been trained as he had, she would invariably be intimidated. Yet her every step was poignant and measured as she sprang back, side-stepped, and somersaulted away from his attacks. Tarek was crowding her, moving into her space and attempting to distract her, as if the angry sky and heavy rain which had begun to fall weren’t enough.

The other men dismounted from their steeds, and it was then that Shoraya drew the lengths of her blades. Combined, her weapons barely equaled the width of the warrior’s broadsword, but she knew her metal to be twice as hard as and far sharper than those crafted for the brutality of cleaving.

She shifted back and ducked down low to avoid a sweeping slash that could have opened a wound on her belly. Perhaps her attacker had cast thoughts of capture aside, having failed to strike her, but Shoraya could not dare to guess at his intent as the ground beneath her feet started to become soft from the rain.

He rushed her with a high, descending blow that sent her scrambling low in evasion. From a crouching position, however, she was able to dart behind him. When she rose, she slapped him across the back of his head with the butt of Aurra.

Tarek roared in frustration as he spun round to face her.

The time for play had come to an end, and it had little to do with the anger of the captain. She knew she had to beat her true aggressor in the elements. With the ground still firm enough, she began the true dance. Warriors and their blunt power knew little about delicacy or art, and while she felt as if the men could have learned something from her, it was not her desire to teach when she herself was still a student.

Shoraya kicked out with a targeted strike to Tarek’s leg and caught the warrior off guard. Her blow landed upon the side of his knee and drew him off-balance long enough for her to follow it up with a smash of the flat of her blade against his unprotected forehead.

The blow rattled him, but only momentarily. Still, it was all she needed. Shoraya raised her blades and began to spin her metal as easily as ribbons. She twirled them forward and back, to the side of her. Building her momentum and loosening her wrists for the exercise to come, she met the wonder in her opponent’s eyes with resolve. As she moved into his space, the tip of Belon deftly met the stays keeping the gauntlet on his sword arm secure. The edge of Aurra sliced at the binding holding his breastplate. She swiftly moved behind the shocked warrior, her gaze attentive and lightning quick, to pinpoint gaps in his armor, evading his every attempt to pummel and stab.

Her attacks were confusing to him, and they were meant to be. Like the winds of a plains funnel, she stirred up chaos all around him. He tried to catch her, to turn toward her and bring down his hammer of a sword, but Shoraya continued to dance away. She had learned from the flying daggerwasp that she didn’t need to meet every blow steel to steel.

With a flick of her wrist, she landed a piercing jab in the meat of the wrist that held his weapon, through the tiny opening between loosened leather fastener and metal. Although the sword fell from his hand, he immediately reached for the long dagger on his hip with the other. Shoraya dealt with that issue as well. She used both of her blades to swat the weapon away from his shaken grasp and into the air. Before he could gather himself, she dealt a two-fold attack. With the edge of her blade slashing toward his neck, she halted her movement just as steel came beneath his chin and touched flesh.

He snarled partly in surprise and perhaps in rage, but Shoraya was unfazed as she twirled her swords back to present his face with two crashing blows from the butts of her pommels.

Tarek went down to the mud with a stunned countenance, his broad chest billowing with exertion.

Shoraya, however, had little opportunity to gloat, even if she had felt the desire to, as the first dart flew past her shoulder, nicking her skin.

Once again she set her blades to spinning, deflecting the hail of darts that came from the wiser, distanced warriors. With little doubt their ammunitions carried some strain of poison, Shoraya added to the distance that separated her from the men. She trotted backward, even as she batted away the steady stream of projectiles coming from short bows and blowguns. One of the warriors stood by ready with a net proclaiming the intention to capture her.

With the rain picking up in intensity, however, even Shoraya’s keen eyesight was hampered. The soldiers seemed to suffer from the same affliction, as their darts scattered widely.

Using the obscurity of the rain, Shoraya flipped backward, landing just feet away from her satchels. With one blade to shield herself, she dipped the other down to weave through the handles of two bags and draw them toward her. As soon as they were close enough, she hefted the sacks onto her wrist.

The leader was coming to his feet just as she managed to shimmy her packs onto her shoulder, but as lightning pierced the sky with its deadly beauty, Shoraya was not ignorant of its warning. The ground would put her at risk, the wind and the rain would prove their superiority, and none were as advantageous as the opportunity for escape that nature was providing for her. The Ebulan forest some quarter of a mile away was her best hope. A dense giant of foliage and trees, it had not been on her planned route, but the thick, dark wall of trees beckoned strongly to her.

The pinch and burn of a dart striking her thigh, another finding root in her back, and yet two more into her leg were only added incentive as she sprang off toward the shelter of the woods with what little strength she still possessed.

Chapter Two

His task was a simple one: to separate the delicate pollen stems from the shy but stunning whisper lotus. The minimal quantities of the gold and pink dust were invaluable commodities for the healing Jasom elixir. He had only to dip the slender probe beneath the petals in order to peel back the layers of the flower. Invariably, the satiny fronds moved defensively to shield their treasure, but Gavenas usually had steadier hands and sound concentration. Hundreds of times, he had coaxed similar flowers to open, using the prize inside to heal creatures small and large, mobile and bound to the soil. Some flowers were coy and others could be aggressive, but with the right amount of focus, the retrieval wasn’t normally a long process.

Yet that day his attention was compromised by the sultry woman lying upon his bed. Her dark skin was like that of a night dragon’s wings, reflecting hints of burnished red. Fire-kissed. Her soft black hair was a beautiful woven tapestry of braids decorated with golden rings. She was a shapely creature, tall and well muscled. It had been a task just for him to carry her from the great roots of the Sky Embracer tree where he had found her to his den without stealing a taste of her rounded shoulder. It had been a nagging thought throughout his entire journey.

He had removed the darts from her skin and given her what little of the Jasom elixir he had to counteract her raging fever. He could do nothing for his own temperature, however.

While she slept, Gavenas had to leave her. He needed to gather a few of the ingredients he required for more of the counteragent, despite the tempest outside. He welcomed the cooling fury of the storm, dampened by the forest’s thick canopy. And even though he knew just where the precious whisper lotus lived, his hunt had been a strain.

It could have been that it was too long since he had entertained carnal thoughts, since he had allowed his animal nature to crave caresses, tastes, and immersion, but Gavenas doubted it.

The woman lying supine upon his bed was special, and the arousal he felt exceeded the hardness of his cock, even as he tried to steady his hand.

Gavenas swore with irritation as the thin probing stick he held was pulled from his fingertips by a despondent petal of the flower and was tossed aside to the table. He narrowed his eyes to glare at the flower before sense reminded him that the pollen would be ruined if the flower were forced too strongly.

His success came after several lengthy minutes with Gavenas managing a tiny mound of pink dust flecked with gold, which he placed inside of a fire-hardened kettle. The other ingredients weren’t so complicated and were readily available in his stores. The only concentration they required was measurements before being added to his pot. Once all the ingredients were combined, he carried the kettle to the fire and suspended it over a mild flame. The antidote would take a few hours, but his guest was deep in her slumber, and the effects of the first dose were manifesting already.

Gavenas took up a cloth and a pail of water, his hands shaking more than they had when they had been occupied with the more complicated task of potion preparation. Going to his knees before the short but broad pallet of furs, moss, and leaves, he set the bowl down and dipped the cloth into the cool water.

So close to the woman he could catch the fullness of her earthy yet feminine scent, he forced himself not to watch the rise and fall of a bosom tightly bound by black leathers and gold clasps, or lower. She had shrugged a long, shapely brown leg outside of the furs. That too he had to look away from, with the distraction of an aching lip, which he had bitten down upon.

Beads of glistening sweat were blossoming all along the smooth skin of her face—signs of the toxins being successfully expelled from her body. They required his immediate attention, he reminded himself as he brought the cloth to her forehead.

Slowly and carefully, he wiped away the residue of poison from her, muttering incantations of calm. Not solely for her. Daubing the cloth over her chest, arms, and stomach and down the length of her legs to the soles of her feet required his mind to be occupied with prayer and spirit song throughout.

While there was every bit of evidence that this female was as natural as the mountain she had doubtlessly come from, there was something else—supernatural almost—that even he couldn’t surmise.

With the last swipe of the cloth against her foot, Gavenas rediscovered haste, snatching up the bowl and rising from the floor. He was on fire, as if he were the one who had been poisoned. His temperature was affecting his mind’s ability to recall even the simplest of functions. His ability to walk straight suffered, and all recollections of spells were vanishing as he took the bowl out of his den and into the storm.

The winds still raged, the forest groaning under the weight of the stormy skies above. The tempest was losing strength, but thankfully the rain still descended. Outside, with his back resting against the walls of his earthen home, the bowl fell from his hold and onto the ground, but he had no thought for contamination. The soil around his home was blessed. He might have chosen a spot farther away to cast out the contents, but the desperation to feel the cool kiss of the rain against his flesh was a maddening need.

He pulled at the stays of his robe. He yanked his long tunic up and over his head before releasing the ties that held his hair back from his face and stood naked beneath the showers. Only through closing his eyes and giving himself to the darkness, by capturing the aching weight of his cock in hand and holding tight, could Gavenas realize why the stranger in his bed had affected him so.

As he ran his palm up and down his length, he envisioned what it might feel like to be engulfed. With his other hand, he caressed a path over hardened nipples, wondering how they would feel with the softness and warmth of full breasts pressed against them. Gavenas opened his lips to let raindrops course over them, sweet as the kisses from a soul mate could be.

He felt humbled by his baser needs, triggered so intently by the mysterious woman. Imagining every raindrop as a caress from her fingertips, Gavenas attempted to question his sanity.

His pulse quickened with the fantasy, his balls tightening with every twist of his fist around his cock. He felt as if he had been poisoned, feverish and single-minded with his phantom of her.

He closed his eyes and saw her face, serene and yet so striking, and for a moment, he was enveloped by her. His hand was the dark, welcoming cavern between her thighs. His fingers were her breasts pressed so tightly against his, and the rain was her kisses.

Gavenas’s hands worked faster, his heart pounding inside his chest like a demon demanding to be freed. As Gavenas finally broke, the notion of some inner force freeing itself of him was both ecstatic and fearful. His seed shot from his cock in forceful, hot jets pulling at every fiber of his being, leaving him gasping for air and weak.