Chains of Revenge (3 page)

‘No,’ he said, with a voice full of torment. ‘Don’t do that. Please.’ But she held him and finally he’d been unable to resist the lure of her kisses.

They spent the rest of the night making love, slowly, with Devadas meticulous in his attention to her pleasure.

He seemed to worship her body, using his mouth and hands to taste and caress her like never before. He laid her back across her bed amid all her silk cushions and pushed her legs open, gazing at her wet pussy with adoration. When he put his mouth on her and sucked her clit, using his tongue to torment and tease her, she cried and laughed with delight. Then screamed when his searching fingers slid inside her throbbing cunt to find the sensitive spot that pushed her up and over into glorious oblivion.

‘Devadas,’ she murmured, breathless and replete. ‘Hold me. Hold me tight.’

He did. He held her in his strong arms while he slid into her still-clutching pussy. She moaned with deep satisfaction as he gazed into her eyes while starting a slow, almost soothing stroke with his cock. She wrapped her legs around him and together they rocked and murmured their love for each other. Tears filled her eyes when he told her how beautiful she was, how she was like a summer day full of joy and peace.

‘You heal me, Lissa. You help me forget what I’ve become. Help me now,’ he whispered, burying his face in the tangle of her curls. Then his stroke became faster, harder, and her blood leapt in response.

He pushed himself up and placed his hands on each side of her while surging deep inside her. Still with her legs around him, she stared up at his dark tormented eyes and, framing his face in her hands, kissed him with everything she had. His tongue twisted and tangled with hers and she heard him moan deep in his throat, sounding like an animal in pain. He pounded into her, his cock pulling out and pushing in, driving her into a frenzy.

Then he broke their kiss, threw back his head and roared out his release. Lissa knew all his pain and suffering eased in that moment. He collapsed onto her and she cuddled and soothed him, her heart full of love as they drifted in and out of sleep.

The next morning, when he was taken back to the slave quarters, she wept, not knowing how to cope with this new experience of love. She wanted him with her all the time. When her father told her Devadas was needed in his army, she cried and raged and begged him to let Devadas stay. Her father pushed her away with a rough laugh.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You are my daughter, not a camp follower. You can’t love a slave.’

Later that day, her father rode out of Horvald with his army behind him to fight some trumped-up warlord who threatened Horvald. She caught sight of Devadas, chained with the other battle serfs, bowed down with despair, trudging along in the mud. She watched until he disappeared from view.

Pain sliced through her. She realised that all her life she had never wanted for anything, so nothing could have prepared her for this terrible grief; grief that seared like a flame through her heart.

Two weeks after her father left with his army, the Great Storm came.

A hurricane swept through Horvald, Catiscal and other surrounding principalities. With her father away, there was no one else to take charge, to gather together the people of Horvald and build again.

She didn’t have time to wonder if Devadas was still alive or if he’d died in some hellhole in the Southlands. Her days were taken up with survival, leading her people, building a new town and planting crops.

But at night, when her muscles ached so much they kept her awake, she couldn’t escape him. She recalled his face, his eyes, first full of torment, then lust. Her pussy would moisten and throb as she remembered the way he would reach for her, seeking oblivion in her arms. Maybe she helped him escape, if only for a little while.

When her father returned, victorious, after six months of war to a transformed Horvald, she couldn’t stop herself from asking about Devadas. He shrugged.

‘I killed him on the outskirts of Tisvo. He and some of the other battle serfs tried to escape in the heat of battle.’

Her heart shattered at his words and a wall of ice formed around the broken pieces. She vowed then she would never let herself care for another man, would never allow herself to experience the pleasure of love and lust. This would be her punishment for treating Devadas as a slave instead of a man.

Her people needed her. That would be enough.

10 years later …

Lissa, Princess of Horvald, waited for Death. She stood, still and silent in the dank chill of the Great Hall, determined to meet her fate without cowering in fear. But fear hovered, beating against her mind like moth wings, relentless and inescapable.

Her father, King of Horvald, was gone, swallowed up in the vicious cycle of victory and defeat. Now there was no protection for her, no way of avoiding the steady creep of defeat as it seeped through the walls and curled under the doors, like a foul, poisoned miasma.

He wanted her, this warlord called Death. He’d killed her father and now demanded she appear before him to beg for mercy.

But she would not beg. Nor would she come at his call, like a whipped dog. If that meant her life was forfeit, then so be it.

A crash in the outer hall momentarily pierced her defiance, sending a cold finger of terror up her spine. She had no illusions about how this warlord would use her then kill her, but couldn’t stop dark, skittering panic flood her body when she realised his touch, full of hatred and violence, would be the last touch from a man she would ever feel.

No sweet strokes or murmured endearments. So different to the last time she’d lain with a man, long ago now. Lissa closed her eyes and called up the image of strong, brown, muscled arms and callused hands that had held and soothed her, all the time whispering enchanting words of beauty and love. A yearning twisted deep inside her, making her gasp with pain. If only she could see him again, just one more time before she died. She’d been such an empty-headed fool all those years ago, thinking she was so powerful she could demand a slave to service her. That slave turned her life upside down and transformed her world. When disaster struck and her people needed her, because of him, she was ready to answer their call.

Ah, Devadas, my love. I’ll join you soon
.

A piercing wail, suddenly cut off, ripped through the air. Death drew near. She glanced out the window and watched the distant wheat fields, the source of Horvald’s wealth, soon to be torched. All her work, gone. Why hadn’t the burning commenced? Would Devadas be pleased? Her slave in chains, the man she, in the end, had loved with such hopeless desperation.

Another end loomed. Lissa heard more crashes and shouting, then the heavy thump of footsteps in the corridor. She continued to stand motionless in a shaft of late winter sun, and waited.

Not for long. The door slammed open and with it, the full realisation of her father’s treachery.

No! Goddess above, no! All those wasted years!

Her past stood before her in mockery.

Tall, broad and forbidding, his body covered in leather and battered armour, Death stood in the doorway like the conqueror he was.

And he was chained no longer.

‘De …’ she began. He cut her off even as she reached for him.

‘My name is Death. I know no other,’ he spat.

Death stared at her, rage surging through his blood. For years the image of her crawling on the floor, dressed in her whorish finery and begging him for mercy had kept him going through the horror of endless campaigns, as he was surrounded by killing and decay. He’d taken his name as a way of reminding himself that death was ever present and inevitable. He wanted it to be inevitable for this woman and her father, dead now at Death’s sword. The old King begged, not for his own life, which amused Death, but for the life of his daughter, the woman who continued to invade Death’s dreams. Ten long years she’d tormented his nights, coming to him naked and open, with that lazy, seductive smile driving him mad.

He’d reach for her, ready to plough her wet, tight heat, but she always evaded him, skipping away with a flick of her long wheat-coloured hair and a swivel of her generous hips. She’d shimmer in gauzy silks and glittering jewels from the Southlands her father conquered.

All those years ago she’d picked him as her slave, as the man she would use as practice for some great lord her father wanted her to marry. He’d been full of disgust for himself and contempt for her.

Through the long years away from her, he couldn’t forget her wild carnality, her acquiescence then, finally, her sympathy. That he’d hated above all else. Her sympathy had made him hope, made him think of her as something other than what she was, the privileged daughter of a king. There were nights when she’d cradled him, caressed him, and let him see the playful child she was. Fool that he was, he’d believed her declarations of love, believed they had a future together. Cold, harsh reality hit him the morning he was dragged off to endure months of hell in her father’s army. She did nothing to save him.

In this terrible place, this hall that was once the slave quarters, Death stared at her, consumed with desperate, dark yearning for the woman who’d made him dream.

No, not yearning. He would never yearn for her again. It was rage. He was the Warlord of Death and rage clawed at his gut.

He took a deep breath. This was not the time to lose control, not after his great victory. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he dampened down his fury and studied Princess Lissa. No longer a girl determined to become a woman, she stood before him as if carved from stone, still and silent. Her wild blonde hair was tamed in a tight braid and she was dressed in a gown that had once been beautiful but was now faded and frayed. She looked liked she worked in the wheat fields.

He didn’t want to meet her this way. She was supposed to be a young, vibrant, selfish fool with a lush body, dressed in garments that made her a whore.

But above all else, she should be frightened. He wanted her to crawl toward him with fear in her eyes and beg him for mercy, not stand there cold, distant and disdainful.

He stalked toward her and saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Sadness? Regret? That made him even more furious. He stopped a few feet from her and took his time examining her.

‘You’ve aged,’ he barked out. She smiled and his heartbeat jumped. It was like looking at a summer day, full of life and joy.

‘As have you,’ she murmured. ‘I see a few more scars.’ She reached up and gently ran her finger down the scar splitting his cheek. He jumped at her touch. Heat radiated from his face, suffusing his body, making his muscles ache with desire. He slapped her hand away.

‘Gained as a slave with your father’s troops. It’s not the only one.’

‘No, I’m sure it isn’t,’ she said with sadness in her voice that made him want to shake her. Or hold her. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with her now.

‘Your father is dead. I killed him.’

She nodded.

‘You don’t seem too upset.’

‘He died the way he wanted, on the battlefield. That was his life. You have defeated us, and death of the commander is the price to pay. That is war. Stupid and wasteful. I assume there will be more deaths and the destruction of our farms and fields. That is your right.’

He studied her as she stood proud and defiant. There was a calmness within her that surprised him.

‘Did you love your father?’

A look of uncertainty flickered in her eyes then was gone. ‘I respected him. He was the protector of Horvald.’

‘But you didn’t love him like a dutiful daughter should.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘I … I didn’t really know him. He was away at war most of the time.’ Her face softened into that of a small child not sure of her place in the world. ‘Why are you asking me these questions? What does it matter?’

‘I want to see if you have any feelings. The only feelings you had years ago were for my cock and how I could use it.’

She flinched as if he’d hit her. ‘That’s not true and you know it. I used you as the women of Horvald used slaves then. That was wrong. But it was not the total truth between us, was it?’

Hot rage coursed through his blood. ‘There was nothing between us,’ he roared, ‘except betrayal and contempt. Anything you felt for me was only the fondness an owner has for a pet. I still went off with your father’s army and lived a life in hell. You did nothing to stop that.’

‘I couldn’t stop that,’ she said, the anguish in her voice breaking through her stillness. ‘I tried, but he wouldn’t allow it. And, and …’ She closed her eyes as Death watched her fight to control herself. ‘He told me he’d killed you when you tried to escape. I believed you dead these ten years gone.’

Her words hit him like a sledgehammer, making him even angrier. For what, he wasn’t sure. Every thought of her through the long years had been contaminated with betrayal. He knew she thought more of him than just a slave, but in the dark nights when his body burned with pain from healing wounds or fever from sickness, he cursed her for wanting him. For giving him ideas about what could have been.

And the nights when he was free from sickness and pain he still burned for her.

She would pay. He hadn’t endured those endless years of fighting and exile from his own land only to walk away from his revenge on Princess Lissa just because she was no longer the woman she had been.

And what was she now? Even more beautiful in her quiet dignity than the sexual wildcat she had been in her youth. Her beauty and stillness set his blood boiling. He wanted to punish her by unleashing that wildcat again. Have her on her knees begging for him, opening herself wide for his use. He stared at her, lost in bitter memories.

‘You didn’t try hard enough to save me. And for that, My Lady, you will pay.’

The anguish disappeared from her face to be replaced by fear. But she drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and regarded him gravely.

‘As you wish, My Lord. I ask only one thing before my death.’

He raised his eyebrows in enquiry.