Carnal Sacrifice (4 page)

A few short minutes later, Maven accompanied her toward the great hall, Laela  taking deep, calming breaths, determined to be brave, for there seemed no other choice.  But when they neared the entrance, she couldn’t quite make herself go in. “Go on  without me,” she told her sister. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

The truth was, she was afraid of what she would find. She hadn’t seen Ogran since  she was a child and didn’t have a firm memory of what he’d looked like even then. She  wanted to prepare herself further now that the moment was at hand.

“Are you sure?” Maven asked, eyes doubtful, but Laela nodded, prodding her sister  through the arched stone doorway.

Then she stood up straight, took one last deep breath, and was trying to convince  herself maybe this would not be so bad, when she heard someone say, “Yes, Ogran, I’ve  seen the girl and she’s quite pretty indeed.”

Lingering just beyond the door, Laela drew back slightly, given how close the voice  was, then peeked around to find the middle-aged man who’d just spoken, a dark-haired  fellow she didn’t know, standing with… Dear Ares!—she’d known Ogran was old, but  the sight of the elderly man was nearly too much to take! Small and slump-shouldered,  the only hair on his head shone sparse and white—a rim of it just above his ears. His  wrinkles sagged toward the pot belly that draped over the belt at his hips. She nearly  fainted, and only reaching to press her palm to the cool rock wall next to her kept her  from it.

The old man chuckled lecherously. “I can’t wait to get my hands on her. It’s been a great while since I took a virgin. I always enjoyed virgins in particular—so easy to show them who’s in control. Every now and then you find a feisty one, but those are even more fun to tame. Just have to be a little rougher with them, but that’s hardly a sacrifice.” His beady eyes narrowed. “
Is
 
she feisty?”

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The other man appeared amused by the old man, which turned Laela’s stomach even more sour. “I’m unsure, but either way, she’ll soon be yours to do with whatever you please.”

Laela felt frozen in place, too shocked to move.

But only for a second. Because it took only that long for one thing to become indisputably clear in her mind.

She could not marry this elderly brute.
 
Could
 
not and
 
would
 
not.

Which left her only one recourse.

She had to run away.

And she had to do it now.

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Lacey Alexander

Chapter Two

Stark fear nipped at Laela’s heels as she dashed up the beach, the fortress walls just barely visible behind her over the dunes. She took only a brief glance back as her bare feet slashed into the cool night sand, one after the other, propelling her forward. She could scarcely believe she was running away into the unknown, but after the ugly remarks she’d heard Ogran make, she felt safer leaving behind everything she knew than she would becoming his wife—and essentially, his property.

Thank goodness Donnell had let her pass—he’d been her only hope of leaving the fortress unnoticed, so it was lucky she’d known where he stood guard. He’d been hesitant, of course, worried for her safety, but she’d taken his hands, beseeched him with her eyes, and said, “I must leave, Donnell! I must! I cannot marry that terrible old wretch!” and finally he’d stepped aside, but not before lowering a kiss to her forehead and wishing her good luck.

Evening had fallen completely now and as she looked out to sea, only the whitecaps on the waves could be seen. Up ahead, to her left, torches beckoned—the village of  Myrtell.

Of course, she’d never been to the town alone before—never in her whole life.  Royal girls were too closely guarded. And she’d certainly never been there at night.  What had always struck her as a quaint, friendly community by daylight suddenly appeared a bit more ominous under the cover of darkness.

Still, she saw no other option but to enter the village. If her absence had not yet been discovered at the fortress, it would be any moment now. And while Myrtell was probably the first place her father’s men would look, there would be more places to hide there than on the empty beach or the open ground surrounding the village. She wished she’d had time to form some better sort of plan than this one—but she simply hadn’t, so now she had to make it up as she went.

Nearing Myrtell, she veered up away from the beach, running toward the enclave of huts and small buildings. Despite the torchlight, she soon discovered that the town was mostly quiet—doors shut, shutters pulled and businesses closed for the evening. It made her fear that a good place to hide might be harder to come by than she’d imagined, and a fresh shot of dread swirled through her.

She continued running, running, up the twisting commonways, between the structures of thatch and wood and stone, until a bit of laughter caught her ear. She headed toward it and soon heard the sounds of more and more people. She knew instinctively she’d located her best chance of not being found.

Bursting from between two small huts, she came upon a brightly lit building, its walls constructed of thick planks of wood, its roof thatched, like most in the village.

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Above the open door hung a wooden sign with the word
 
Tavern
 
painted upon it, featuring a depiction of a goblet for those who didn’t read.

Talk and laughter and even the sound of some sort of instrument spilled from the door and windows of the larger-than-average structure, and Laela knew it was her only hope. Trepidation bit at her at the prospect of entering a room full of strange men imbibing ale—but when, in the distance, she heard the sound of hooves, her father’s horses, she sprinted toward the entrance and ducked inside.

She was stopped cold by the scene that met her eyes. Yes, the room was filled to bursting with men who held large goblets in their fists, but in the center of them all, on a long, wooden table, two women—bared to the waist—kissed each other passionately, clearly for the delight of the crowd! One leisurely caressed the other’s large, round breasts and somewhere in the room a man let out an enthusiastic howl.

Laela’s heartbeat, which had been frantic enough already, now escalated into something wild and out of control. She’d never seen anything like this before—she didn’t even know two women could desire each other that way, nor that men would enjoy it so much!

“That’s right, girls, nice and slow. Make it last.”

The hot, raspy voice drew her gaze across the room to a dark-haired fellow probably around her own age, his equally dark eyes glued to the women.

But Laela’s focus immediately shifted to the man at his side, for it was her handsome, sandy-haired fantasy lover! She nearly lost her breath at the sight of him, and even in the midst of her fear, her pussy went warm. Oh, to know
 
that
 
man as a wife knew a husband! To fuck him. She still didn’t quite know what it
 
was
 
to fuck, but already she burned to do it with
 
him
.

“Oh yes, girls, keep going,” the dark-haired young man said again, and Laela’s eyes returned to the center of the tavern where now one of the women licked the other’s

nipple, dark pink and shiny with moisture. Both purred and moaned their pleasure,  and everything around Laela—from the bare-breasted women to her fantasy lover to  the hungry-eyed men whose musky scents hung all around her in the shadowy air— made her body hum with a tense excitement she’d never known.

“Good of you to provide such titillating entertainment, Garon!” a voice bellowed  merrily from somewhere to Laela’s right.

Her blond fantasy lover gave a short laugh. “I only pay them to serve the ale. But  can I stop them if they wish to seek their pleasure between filling goblets?”

His dark-haired companion let out a guffaw. “We all know better than that, my  friend.”

More masculine laughter buffeted the room, reminding Laela how out of place she was here—the only woman in the room not engaging in a sexual act for the patrons’ enjoyment.

She tried to digest it all. Garon—his name was Garon. And he owned the tavern?  Yes, he must. But as to what exactly he paid the women for…no one elaborated on that

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further, leaving her to wonder. Something dark and forbidden stirred low in her belly  as she tried to decipher an answer.

That’s when she heard the thunder of hooves nearby, even above the tavern noises.  Her father’s horses were the only such animals anywhere in the vicinity, so she knew  his men, too, were headed toward the torches and laughter, searching for her! And  she’d wasted precious minutes being shocked and aroused and not doing anything to  save herself. “Pardon me, excuse me,” she said, suddenly pushing her way through the  throng of men surrounding her.

“What do we have here?” a particularly burly fellow nearly twice her size asked as  he closed a hand around her shoulder.

Suddenly, there was no
 
time
 
for fear, so she only glared at the big beast. “I must

reach Garon. Unhand me!”

The man flinched, letting go, and she pushed through the crowded room toward the handsome blond man whose sparkling blue eyes were now locked on hers. Of course, it seemed
 
lots
 
of men’s eyes were suddenly devouring her—even choosing to ogle
 
her
 
over the tawdry sight in the middle of the room—but she focused only on her fantasy lover. Not only was there no time for fear, there was no time for indulging her lust or shyness at the moment, either.

Garon couldn’t have been more intrigued by the pretty little nymph making her way toward him through the crush of men filling his tavern. He’d never seen anyone appear more out of place—she looked like a bright, lone flower in a field of mud and grime. He knew instantly she was wealthy—the silk dress gave her away. And he knew she was innocent, too—the braid falling down her back told
 
that
 
tale.

“You must hide me,” she insisted vehemently as she reached him.

He quirked an unhurried smile. “From what, princess?”

Just then, he heard the whinny of horses being drawn to a rough halt outside—rare and valuable enough animals that he knew only one man who owned any. Enrick, their ruler.

“My father’s men,” she said, and he couldn’t help noticing how her hazel eyes  nearly matched those in the odd cat’s-head pendant worn at her throat.

He narrowed his gaze on her, sizing her up. So she was Enrick’s daughter—the last  of them yet to marry, if he remembered correctly. If he had any sense, he’d turn the girl  over to the men without a second thought.

But her eyes were so frightened. And she
 
was
 
a pretty little nymph. He crossed his  arms and leaned his head back slightly. “What’s in it for
 
me
?”

Her eyes grew even rounder than they already appeared, and she looked lost for an  answer. Finally, she said, “What do you want?”

Garon wished he had more time to weigh his reply, but he knew the men were  going to burst in the door looking for this lovely girl any moment now. He gave her a

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long once-over, reminding himself he could be put to death for crossing the great ruler  of Caralon. To even
 
consider
 
it was pure folly.

“Anything you want from me, it’s yours,” she said hurriedly, frantically. “So long  as my father’s men don’t find me.”

“Your body,” he said plainly.

“What?” She looked aghast at the suggestion, her gaze going wide.

But Garon only laughed. “Take it or leave it, princess.”

She drew in her breath sharply, then spoke through slightly clenched teeth. “Fine.  Fine, whatever you want. Just hide me!”

He gave her his most lecherous, satisfied grin, along with a little nod of agreement,  then spoke to the fellow standing next to him without ever letting his gaze leave hers.  “Baelor, take her to my room and make sure she’s well hidden. And, uh, be sure she  stays there—I don’t want her deciding to leave before I get payment for my…services.”

Baelor let out a low chuckle, clamping his warm hand around her wrist and pulling  her deeper into the tavern—and Garon wondered what in Ares’ name he’d just done,  and more importantly, why. Hadn’t he just lectured himself about folly?

Seconds later, a handful of large warrior types came bounding through the door so  roughly that even Sima and Janya, his two tavern maids, looked up from where they sat  entangled in each other’s soft bodies, their leather skirts now raised to their hips, their  breasts pressed lightly together.

But he couldn’t take more than a quick glimpse at the sumptuous sight of them—he  had much bigger business to attend to.

“It’s not often we see men from Enrick’s fortress here. What can I do for you? Ale?”  Then he motioned to Sima and Janya, letting a lecherous smile form on his face. “Or  maybe you’d prefer women?”