Firestorm (27 page)

But even as Teague watched Raina's climax finally ebb, he knew the pain of a need that would remain even after this night. A need he might indulge in for a short while longer, but not forever. It was forbidden to one such as him. It had to be. He'd given his word.

Holy vow notwithstanding, however, this night was theirs. And he meant to find the same fulfillment in Raina's arms as she had found in his. It was indeed' their night, their mating. For once in his life, he'd not be denied.

He began to thrust into her once more, savoring the slick heat of her, the velvety tug of her sheath over his glans and shaft. The tension grew within him; the fire roared to uncontrollable heights. The pressure mounted, making him so hard it was exquisite agony.

He groaned. He panted. He gripped her lush buttocks, lifting her higher, tighter.

Then the release came, shooting from him in rhythmic, pulsing spurts. Teague went rigid shook with the ferocity of his climax, his body arched as taut as a bow. Guttural sounds emanated from his throat, sounds of pure, elemental pleasure.

The heavens opened. A bright, blinding light shone down. Happiness, a peace and surety such as he'd never known before, filled him. Then the strength left him in one giant surge. Teague collapsed atop Raina with a soft sigh.

She gathered him to her, cradling his head on her chest, crooning to him. They lay there for a time, their passion-heated bodies pressed tightly together, until the sweet, bone-deep exhaustion of their release finally claimed them.

***

They dragged him, bound and bleeding, to the base of the dais where the usurper sat, gloating like some big, shiny scarabus bug. One of the two soldiers holding the boy grabbed his head, snaring his gloved fingers in the thick length of golden blond hair, and cruelly wrenched it back. Only then, from the unearthly vantage hovering above and beyond the throne, did she finally see his face.

A boy on the verge of manhood, she mused from the dreamy perspective of her sleeping mind, hardly more than thirteen cycles old. Straight of nose, firm of jaw, with the most unsettling silver-blue eyes. A comely lad, certain to grow into a man of great size and splendor, if the broad sweep of his shoulders and long, coltish legs were any indication. If they allowed him to live past this day . . .

"I cannot kill you," the usurper complained fretfully from his perch on the edge of his throne, plucking endlessly at his shiny new robes as if he couldn 't quite get them arranged properly. "That cursed prophecy forbids . . ."

He paused to nervously lick his thin lips, his tongue darting out like that of some slimy reptilian lacerta. "But I am now your king and can prevent you from ever spawning an heir or remaining on Incendra," the corpulent man forced himself to continue with renewed bluster and bravado. "With you far from your planet and people, with little hope of return, I shall live out my reign, prophecy or no."

The boy struggled fiercely in the two guards' grasp, but the cruel bonds and the hand locked in his hair held him fast. "I w-will return," he managed to choke out his reply. "Someday, somehow."

At the boy's childish bravado, a smile of pure malevolence twisted his adversary's face. He toyed with the large aureum signet ring on his finger, not bothering even to look back at the boy. Light from hundreds of perpetual torches placed along the length of the great hall reflected off the gold-colored metal. "When I'm done with you, there'll be nothing left worth bringing back to Incendra. You have my word on that. My torturers are just that good."

"You w-wouldn 't. You can't!" the boy gasped, as the guard jerked hard on his hair. "Th-the prophecy— "

"Concerns only your life, my pretty princeling," the usurper finished smugly, once more meeting the boy's tortured gaze. "It has never applied to anything else, such as your mind or pride or ability to rule."

"Curse your soul to the depths of perdition!" the boy cried, and tried anew to get free of his captors. The effort did little but twist the ropes binding him, sending them deeper into his already scored and bleeding wrists. For his futile efforts, he was rewarded with yet another vicious tug on his hair. His head snapped back, exposing the strong young column of his throat. Yet still he fought on, unbowed and defiant.

All the while, the usurper watched with glittering eyes and undisguised pleasure. Finally, exhausted, the boy gave up the struggle. His chest heaved with his exertions. His body shook.

With an unsettling surety, she knew he battled to hold back the tears. Her heart went out to him in his moment of deepest shame and despair. She wanted desperately to aid him. Yet her limbs wouldn't move; her mouth refused to open. There was nothing left her but to watch and await the final outcome.

The realization angered her. She was as much a pawn in this brutal drama as was the boy. As much a pawn as the man he slowly became before her eyes—the man she knew as Teague Tremayne. She railed impotently against that knowledge, fearing the consequences of ever having joined forces with him, of ever returning to a planet and land that had cast her out as heartlessly, as brutally as it had seemed to reject him.

For ever having allowed herself to love him.

Fear curled about her heart, squeezing it painfully. She fought back, gulping for breath.

N-no," she cried in her fitful, tormented slumber. "I cannot. I will not!"

Someone screamed from a long distance away, horrible and heart-rending. Teague? She turned back to the scene of throne and prisoner, but a mist now swirled before her eyes. She could barely make out the form of the man, slumped over on the floor at the feet of the usurper, blood gushing from his body.

Panic stabbed through her. Was this how it was all fated to end then? Teague, once more in Vorax's hands, tortured this time until death? Teague, the man she loved, lost to her once and for all?

"N-no!" Her arms flailed wildly as she sought to sweep away the black, roiling mist. "Gods, no! No!"

***

Raina woke, bolting upright in bed, her heart pounding, drenched in sweat. The oil lamps had burned away long ago. The darkened tent was quiet, save for the sound of her harsh, ragged breaths. Outside some night bird called, its song haunting, melancholy.

Someone moved beside her in the dark. She jerked back, grasping wildly for the dagger she kept tucked beneath the pallet.

"Raina?" Teague's voice, deep and resonant, strangely comforting, rose from the blackness beside her. "What is it, sweet one? A bad dream?"

"Nothing," she muttered fiercely, the memory of Teague, sprawled bleeding and beaten before Vorax's throne, filling her with renewed horror. Gods, she prayed to any benevolent entity that might hear her, don't let it be true. Please, don't let it happen. "It was nothing."

The bedcovers rustled. Teague scooted close and pulled her to him. She shuddered and clasping her arms tightly about her, crept into the warm, solid haven that he offered. She buried her face against his strong chest, willing the horror to pass. Willing herself to forget, once and for all, and finally be at peace. She'd long ago put aside the memories of her own abuse and humiliation at the hands of her fellow Incendarians. Why couldn't she do the same for a simple dream?

With a despairing sigh, Raina shoved back from Teague. She needed some distance from him, from the intensity, the immediacy of it all. From the heavy sense of certitude that this dream presaged his eventual fate. She needed some air. "Let me go. Please."

He released her without protest or demand for an explanation. She grabbed her cloak lying beside the pallet and rose. Wrapping it about her, Raina padded across the tent to the door.

Raising the flap, she gazed out into the star-studded night. The storm had passed sometime during the darkest hours, leaving behind only a sharp tang of dampness on the brisk wind. The rocky fortress was drenched in moisture, from the standing puddles in the muddy pathways between the tents to the water still dripping slowly from the high stone walls.

Raina's glance lifted and, for long, poignant minutes, she stared up at the peaceful sky. Far out on the horizon, a faint glow smudged the blackness to gray. Dawn would come in another hour or two, she thought. Not soon enough, though, to spare her from the tenacious memories and haunting questions once again stirred to life by the dream. Not soon enough to dispel the ugly sense of presentiment and helplessness that twined like the coils of some deadly serpent about her heart.

"Raina, come back to bed," Teague said suddenly from behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders, strong, capable, and comforting. "The night is cold. Let me hold you, warm you."

With a small, heartfelt sigh, Raina forced a wan smile and turned. Yes, she thought, let him hold her, warm her while there was still a time of peace for them. The future, on this night of joyous discovery and aching intimacy, might soon beckon them to where they no longer wished to go. A future that wasn't nearly enough, not after what they'd so recently shared.

Not nearly enough, when she wanted a lifetime.

Taking his hand Raina led Teague back to bed—and what remained of the shattered tranquillity of the night.

Seventeen

Teague tried everything he could to soothe her nightmare-ravaged nerves, including another bout of exquisitely tender lovemaking, but it only intensified Raina's distress. As he finally fell into an exhausted slumber beside her, she lay there, her thoughts roiling chaotically.

Though a confusing tumult of issues bombarded her, some things were abundantly clear. Vorax would be furious if and when he learned of Teague's return to Incendra. This time, Raina was certain, he'd seek somehow to have Teague killed.

Stirred by her dream the ancient prophecy, a cryptic jumble of long-forgotten lines, came back to her now. Raina recognized them for the truth they were—and for their hauntingly precise application to Teague. Just like the prophecy had promised, he'd suffered greatly in the rebellion. He'd died to himself and the world when he'd renounced his former life and heritage upon leaving Incendra, as well as when he'd become a monk. And he had, in that cauldron of suffering and renunciation, exorcised the evil of his ancestors.

Teague was a good, moral man, a courageous and thoughtful man. He would make an excellent leader. If he chose to assume the reins of power once more. If he chose to join with Bahir. But as the prophecy also said, it was his right to search, to choose.

Yet what chance did Incendra have if Teague decided against following his true destiny? And if he did, what impact would that have on their mission, and the fate of the Imperium? Once they'd harvested the stone, she could go back to Bellator alone, leave Teague behind if he wished to carry on the fight against Vorax.

As much as the thought of giving up her own plans for vengeance angered her, as much as she hated leaving Teague, there seemed little other choice. Her own needs could never hold the priority that the Volan threat to the Imperium held.

Frustration rose in Raina. From the beginning, nothing had gone as planned. Now, on top of most likely having to renounce her long-dreamt-of revenge, she might well lose the man she loved in the bargain.

But then, she sadly reminded herself, there'd been little hope of anything ever coming of their undeniable, if forbidden, attraction for each other. Teague was still a monk, and he'd made no promises to her, not even in the most passionate throes of their mating. No, if the truth be told, all he'd really done was temporarily renounce his vow of chastity. And he had done so, most likely, only out of kindness to her.

She glanced at him, lying beside her, naked save for the blanket that lay curled below his knees. Sleeping on his stomach, he presented a most delectable sight in the rising light of dawn. The lithe brawn of his upper torso gradually merged with the sensuous indentation of his lower back before curving out once more into the most delightfully rounded, tautly muscled buttocks. Darker, hair-roughened thighs joined with the smooth-skinned, paler buttocks, before skimming yet further downward in a sleekly masculine, muscular way to the vulnerable curve behind his knees and the juncture of the blanket.

Even as her glance caressed his body, Raina felt the desire thrum through her, her skin tauten, the blood pound more swiftly, more heatedly through her veins. Never, in her wildest imaginings, had she realized the sharp, sweet pleasures to be found in loving a man. And to think that the one vile act of Malam Vorax had nearly and permanently deterred her from ever knowing the true joys between a man and a woman.

As she gazed at Teague, a tender smile lifted her mouth. He was such a wonderful lover, even when one considered that last night had been but his first time. He cared for her pleasure, indeed, was exquisitely sensitive to her every need. Though he'd been gentle, beneath his tight control, Raina sensed he was a man of deep strength and passion.

He couldn't help but be, she realized, to have survived, much less totally rebuilt his life after what Vorax had done to him. Most monks never reached the level of a Grandmaster even after a lifetime of effort. Teague had attained it in less than nineteen cycles.

It meant so much to him, his standing in his Order. She'd heard the pride in his words, seen it in the way he comported himself. No matter what she thought of his motives in adhering to the monastic life, it was evident Teague had found a certain peace and satisfaction in it. He'd assuredly gained a well-earned reputation in his tireless service to the Imperium as one of Exsul's renowned warrior monks.

Raina wondered if even the needs of his people would be enough to lure him from the monastic life. One thing was certain: there was little hope that his affection and desire for her would ever be that powerful an inducement.

Yet against all the cautions of her usually practical, highly disciplined mind, Raina still hoped against hope. She would do anything for Teague: remain on Incendra and fight at his side for his kingdom; leave, and make a life back on Bellator or wherever he wished to go . . . If only she could be with him . . .

With an effort, Raina caught herself in her maudlin, lovestruck dreaming. Anger welled within her. She was a fool to place such import on the whims of a man. Such fatuous considerations would surely doom her to an eventual—and heartbreaking—disaster. Yet hadn't Marissa taken such a chance when she'd accepted Brace as her mate? And hadn't she, because of that, been deliriously happy all these cycles?

Teague was as fine a man as Brace Ardane. She was as deserving of happiness as Marissa was. Yet what was right, what was fair in life, wasn't always the way things turned out. And she would never, ever, no matter how ardently, how deeply she wanted Teague, beg him to accept what he'd not come to desire for himself.

Raina rose from the pallet and dressed. Teague slept on, unaware of her departure as she slipped out of the tent and into the fresh air and morning sunlight. Many of the Tuarets were already up and about, some building cookfires to prepare breakfast, others hurrying down to draw water from the artesian well that lay at the base of the rocky fortress. She grabbed up a empty jug sitting outside the tent and set out, intent on fetching fresh water for her and Teague to use that day.

"You seem no worse for wear, mirah," Bahir's voice caught her as she passed his tent. "Have you inadvertently found that mating with the man of your choosing isn't as odious an act as you'd once imagined?"

Raina wheeled, her jug clenched tightly to her, her eyes blazing. Curse his smug, arrogant hide! "And what of you, Bahir?" she spat, glaring down at him. He sat there outside his tent, sharpening his long, curved war blade. "Pleased that your machinations have finally gained you what you wished? Whatever that might be."

He had the good grace to flush. "I meant no harm to either of you. It was evident you both wanted each other. I but hastened the inevitable."

"So now, on top of all your other duties, you see yourself as matchmaker?" Raina laughed disparagingly. "It'll do no good. You may temporarily command our bodies, but you'll never command our minds. Never!"

Bahir shot her an angry, congested look, then glanced away. "I only want your mate to do what he knows he must do. Is that so terrible?"

Her anger cooled as quickly as it had flared. She couldn't, in all fairness, fault Bahir for his devotion to Incendra, no matter how much she personally despised the man. "No, it isn't terrible," Raina replied moderating her tone. "Your intent is commendable. Your methods of achieving that intent, though, aren't."

"Then tell me how to convince him." Bahir swung back to Raina, betraying a surprising eagerness. "If, especially after last night, you don't know his will and how to bend it, no one does."

"So you can use Teague to your personal ends?" Raina's anger swelled anew. "That's all I've ever been in your eyes—a pawn to be manipulated to gain the greater prize, Teague's cooperation in this hopeless, fatal quest of yours."

"What if you have?" he muttered his jaw going taut. "You've gained in the bargain as well. You're his mate, his woman now. If he should regain the throne, you could well rule beside him. Enough advancement for any woman, I'd say, for sharing her bed."

"And where do love, respect, and honesty enter into all this, Bahir?" She stepped closer, her voice trembling with rage. "Or is that how you view all women, then, as opportunistic bloodsuckers?"

"How should I know?" Bahir flung down his sword and shoved to his feet. He walked up to confront her. "I've yet to see much of anything else in a woman, save hard-hearted disregard and callous betrayal. Nor am I now ever likely to, it seems."

As he stood there towering over her, his face gone red and fury emanating from every pore of his body, Raina realized she'd struck a nerve. He spoke of Cyra, the wife who had left him.

An impulse to tell Bahir of Cyra's message filled her, but she refused to give in to it. The fact that in his admission he'd totally discounted Najirah and all she had been to him only stoked the fires of Raina's resolve. By the five moons, the hard-hearted callous man didn't deserve whatever solace Cyra's message would give him!

"Foolish, pitiful man," she snarled. "The truth of that lies just at the end of your nose, if you ever find the courage to drag yourself out of the self-pitying quagmire you cast yourself into when your first wife deserted you. Then you might finally be able to fathom the real reasons she probably left you. Then, at long last, you might finally see the woman who is still here for you and will always be. Not that you're worthy of her love and respect and honesty. Not that it'll ever—"

"That's enough, Raina."

At the sound of Najirah's quiet but intense voice, Raina turned. Bahir's wife had, from the looks of the sweating pottery jug clasped on her hip, just now returned from the well. She eyed her friend sternly. "You intrude where you've no right. What Bahir and I share is no concern of yours."

Heat flooded Raina's face. Gods, she hadn't meant for Najirah to overhear. She'd suffered enough as it was.

Raina glanced from Najirah to Bahir, then back to Najirah. "I-I beg pardon," she mumbled. "I meant no harm. Your husband however, has a definite talent for goading me beyond the limits of my control." Raina stepped back. "I'll be on my way. I'd meant to draw water for our breakfast meal."

"Wait." Najirah walked over to a black metal cauldron and poured the contents of her jug into it. "I need more water. I'll walk back to the well with you."

The warrior woman hesitated. What was the harm in Najirah's company? Besides, a more in-depth apology was in order. "Fine," she muttered. "Suit yourself."

Which Najirah did promptly joining her. Raina eyed her narrowly, then started off down the trail to the well.

Bahir watched them go. Then, with a weary sigh, he turned back to the blade he'd been sharpening. He'd never understand Raina, he thought sourly, as he ran the porous sharpening stone up and down the gleaming length of metal. At one instant she was cold and calculating, a lethal warrior through and through. The next, she was ardently defending her mate, or standing up for Najirah.

Najirah ... at the thought of his gentle wife, guilt twisted Bahir's gut. Raina had said some hard words to him about her. Of the fact that she loved him. That he was unable to recognize or appreciate that love because he was still drowning in his grief over losing Cyra. And that he was the one at fault in Cyra's leaving him.

That last accusation pierced to his very soul. Foolish, arrogant female! How little she knew of the true circumstances! His hand clenched knuckle white, about his sword. He'd given Cyra everything. Everything!

But Raina didn't know that and never would. He'd be damned if he'd parade his pain and humiliation for all to see. And especially not before that heartless bitch! No, especially not her, who was so very like his Cyra.

Footsteps intruded on his anguished musings. Bahir glanced up. Teague Tremayne was, even then, halting before him. The look in the other man's eyes, however, was far from friendly. Well, Bahir wryly asked himself, what did he expect from either of them after last night?

He motioned with his sword to a spot before him. "Sit. I don't particularly like staring up at a man."

Teague gave a snort of disgust and lowered himself to sit in the place Bahir had indicated. "The deed is done," he began without preamble. "We are now mates and have fulfilled our part of the bargain. I'd like to start out for the caves on the morrow."

"Eager to be free of me, are you?" Bahir resumed his sharpening of his sword. "Well, in this case, I concur. It's a two-day journey there, then about another day or two to mine sufficient quantities of the crystal. How many days' journey is it from the oasis where we first met to your spaceship?"

"With equs, less than a day."

"Good. If all goes well, we'll be back at your ship in a week." Bahir looked up. "Does this ship require more than one pilot to get it through the electromagnetic field and back to Bellator?"

Teague went still. "And why would you ask that? Do you intend on forcing one of us to stay behind on Incendra?"

"I haven't yet decided. But then, I've yet to be convinced if this mission of yours is truly what you say it is." The Tuaret leader's mouth quirked. "Volan mind-slavers. It stretches the limits of credibility."

"I tire of the games, Bahir," Teague growled. "Though we've held information back from you in the past, what we told you about the purpose of our mission is true. What other possible reason could induce us to risk In-cendra's electromagnetic storm? It nearly killed Raina as it was."

"What else, indeed?" The Tuaret's eyes went hard, calculating. "You care for her, don't you?"