Hunted: A Claiming Novella (The Claiming) (6 page)

For the first time ever her timing was
wrong; her synchronization seconds behind. She couldn’t help it. Her mind
sprinted at a mile a minute and didn’t seem ready to slow down. On top of that
her heart was pounding. And then she saw him.

The general.

He stood in the back of the crowd
watching her with a fixed expression. He meant to claim her? For some reason,
until now, she hadn’t quite thought it through. Just what being his would
entail. What if he did win her hand in marriage at the Claiming? She would
actually be his, completely and utterly by law.

She fell into the dance. The movements
were long lived in memory deep in her bones. They were patterns she’d created
with her body hundreds of times. Dipping, arms arching above and out straight.
She leapt, performing splits in the air and even she was impressed that she
managed to hang in the air for a split second as if by magic. When the
performance ended and applause broke out over the audience, Penelope bowed,
eyes secretly searching that spot at the back of the room.

Ryon was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 5

Ryon arrived at the king’s castle as
night settled overhead. Storms clouds hovered like menacing discs, growling in
anger and threatening a wet onslaught sure to drench. An ominous night. He
didn’t care for it.

Up ahead at the front gate of the castle
the spieler stood at attention. A row of military officials and royalty dressed
in their finest livery waited for the steward to announce them to the
celebration.

“Admiral Premby Adams and wife,
Miranda,” the announcer called out. He had a grand, ringing voice that carried
out over the courtyard and into the ballroom.

Tonight the highest of the kingdom’s
echelon would gather to boast about their massive wealth and responsibilities.
All under the pretense of celebrating their victory over the Avas.

Tonight was the anniversary of six
years
free from Avagarian attacks. The thought made him feel sick; his chest felt
hollowed out and scraped clean like carving bones. It hurt like hell. Because
tonight was nothing but a fat lie.

They were no longer six years free from
attack.

This was the hardest part of his job. In
the interest of public safety, it was his responsibility to clean up the messes
and make sure everyone was safe. He couldn’t do that if everyone began living
in fear again. They’d already lived that way, under repeated attacks by an
inconceivable enemy. An enemy much stronger, quicker, and more dangerous than
them.

War kept their morale low as a people.
Birth rates declined, people died. That’s how the Claiming Laws came into
being. With the population in steep decline, the king had to do something. And
so he chose to write a law which stated: During the Claiming Season, a time
lasting during the warmest months of the year, a female will be chosen of
healthy constitution to be offered for any fit male as wife.

In less subtle terms: It made men marry
young women in order to procreate. During the Claiming Season, lasting roughly
three months, one female a month would be chosen. That left a possibility of
three new pregnancies a year.

 The strongest of the males would
compete, since they must fight any other competitors in hand-to-hand combat.
Sometimes men died for the chance. However, the victorious winner would reap
the greatest prize of all—the female. He would then take her, copulate, and
thus officially mark her as wife under Tarlèan law.

He vowed to win Penelope during her
Claiming. No one else would touch her. It was their time now.

A touch on his shoulder caught his
attention. The man behind him was pointing at the announcer. In fact, everyone
was staring at Ryon expectantly. It was his turn in line.

“My apologies. I was lost in memories,”
Ryon said automatically.

The group behind him smiled, oozing
familiarity, righteous or not. “Such a hero,” one woman sighed.

The announcer smiled, pleased, turned to
the great hall and bellowed, “General of the Tarlèan Armed Forces, Ryon Amadeus
Ward!”

He tensed under the attention. It still
wasn’t something he’d gotten used to, though he supposed he dealt with it
better than he had when he first became general.

Applause erupted as Ryon stepped into
the castle. He saw the faces of his compatriots, his men at arms, royal leaders
from their respected houses, and friends and loved ones. These were his people,
but he cursed at having to dress up in his full regalia. He felt pompous with
the ridiculous medals hanging off his chest like some boastful symbol. He’d not
done the things he had, and does, for recognition, and certainly not for any
applause. He did it to save lives. He was good at his job and he simply wanted
to do it. If he could do it quietly, from the back corner of a room wearing a
dull smock, he would. So long as Penelope stood at his side.

He made his rounds through the crowded
room of socialites. He shook hands, patted backs, kissed ladies’ rouged cheeks.
Played his part as the general. All the while his mind churned with thoughts.

Of Penelope.

He’d thought he had seen fire in her
before, especially after their first kiss those years ago. Now he had to face
the realization of how just how mistaken he’d been. What he felt for Penelope
could only be described as a blistering inferno. His very skin felt stretched
taut around her, each cell poised to wait to see if she’d grace him with her
touch. His thoughts were forever returning to her, to the wicked things she
said to him, to remembering the feel of her mouth on his cock, to the thought
of waking up next to her in bed, of sharing meals together. These thoughts
pleased him like an overfilled wine glass to a drunk.

Trumpets boomed a hymn of the king’s
royal march
.
Ryon jolted at the raucous noise and turned to watch his
friends much more lavish arrival. Lyle generally attended social events
partnerless
. However, tonight the sultry Lysse was attached
to his arm, a lecherous smile on her red lips. Her appearance did nothing to
stoke his desire. All it did was remind him of Pen’s perfectly shaped mouth. He
liked the way she kissed, too. She kissed like she did all things in life—with
enthusiasm. A man could hurt worse than having an enthusiastic partner.

Stifling a groan, Ryon adjusted his hips
to ease the pressure growing in his groin. A release from his own hand had done
nothing to reduce the ache in his body. Only one woman could appease him now.
His usually stellar patience had begun to slip around the time he’d kissed her
again. As soon as he could, he planned to slip from the party unnoticed and go
home. Maybe another release would help with the pain in his manhood.

Just as he turned to make his way to
King Lyle, a commotion started up.

“Who’s that?” one woman asked nearby,
her tone hateful. “Looks like one of those
dancer
girls.”

Shock froze Ryon in place; the muscles
in his shoulders bunched so hard they convulsed in spasms. With a turn, he
faced the front of the hall and stopped, rooted in place like a tree. He
visibly shook—with rage.

*  *  *

Here, birdy, birdy, birdy.

Oh, you can be so wicked, Penelope
thought.

Tonight she was dressed to kill and she
had only one name on her hit list: Ryon Ward.

He wouldn’t stand a chance against
tonight’s assault.

Her name wasn’t announced as she entered
the military soiree to commemorate an attack-free kingdom. How easy it had been
sneaking into the gala, uninvited. All it took was a smile and the guards had
let her pass as a “special guest.” It helped that they recognized her from
Prima
Donna’s
club
.
They’d even asked for her autograph, but she had to
decline. There just wasn’t time for that. Not tonight.

Tonight she was here with a purpose. To
get a little payback on Ryon. Why, one might ask. Well, she had many reasons.
Or, perhaps not many, but one very good one. He’d kissed her in her dressing
room, in her private sanctuary, and had gotten her in trouble with her boss.
Now all the dancers wouldn’t stop teasing her about “getting it on with the
general” during work hours. That just wouldn’t do. So she planned to rectify
the situation. Tonight.

Her soon-to-be victim stood on the
opposite side of the room scowling with the angriest expression she’d ever seen
on his face. Normally, he kept himself rigid with control, but the mask had
slipped from place. He’d spotted her surprisingly quickly—as soon as she’d
entered the room—as if he had a beacon on her. And he looked downright furious.

She almost giggled.

Penelope made sure she caught his eye
before she lifted her chin high and smiled at him. This was her game now and
she controlled things. It was something she’d always been good at. Eyes were on
her, both appreciative and not.

For such a possessive man, Ryon took
things about as well as she’d imagined. His mouth formed the words of a vicious
curse but he didn’t speak the word aloud. How delightful he was. She could
laugh but it’d surely sound shrill and evil with her devilish thoughts. Rare
was it that she ever had so much fun with a man.

Ah, yes, it felt good to hold the reins
of power again. Last night he’d tipped the scales in his favor, but she planned
to rectify that. Tonight he would pay. She hadn’t quite decided what she would
do. It wasn’t in her nature to be vengeful—until now. And it wasn’t in her
nature to
plan
anything. She much preferred on-the-fly thinking. It was
exhilarating. In fact she could hardly keep from smiling like the little devil
he proclaimed her to be.

Behaving badly had never felt so wicked.

Penelope began to make a pass around the
hall as was customary at a gathering of this magnitude. As she came to the
bottom of the grand staircase, she froze. Standing before her was none other
than the King of Tarlè, Lionel Hargrowe, His Majesty. Sucking in a petrified
breath, she dropped into a deep bow, even remembering to lower her gaze at the
last second. Hopefully she hadn’t made an affront.

“
Your
Majesty!”
Only after her slight outburst, did she blush furiously. Surely, she was
supposed to quietly and daintily whisper to him in greeting, if saying anything
at all.

She could feel the eyes on her, looking
at her, sneering, judging and assessing. She thought quickly of something to
say, but the king beat her to it.

“My lady, Penelope Farris. I would
recognize that graceful bow anywhere. The finest ballet dancer in the kingdom,”
the king said. He had the charming demeanor of a debonair gent. He oozed sexual
competency in his bold movements and keen intellect. His smile was disarming,
which he seemed to know how to use smartly. This wasn’t a man you would want to
cross.

Blushing straight down to her toes,
Penelope slowly rose. The king was not as intimidating as she had originally
thought. Up close and personal, she could see how he could be a potential
friend under different circumstances. The hint of a smile toyed at the corner
of his mouth. He’d come to
Prima Donna’s
on several previous occasions,
but he’d sat amidst an entourage of royalty in the best balcony seats in the
house. And so she’d never met him face-to-face before.

“Your Majesty is too kind. It would be
my pleasure to dance a number for you any time.”

The king nodded in approval. His gaze
swept the room and landed on Ryon who was charging through the crowd toward
them with the speed and strength of a battering ram. “Have you met General Ryon
Ward, Lady Farris?” the king asked.

Ryon entered the group wearing a comical
expression. Even grimacing, he was quite handsome and looked rather dashing in
his military uniform. She rarely saw him wearing it. The jacket showcased how
broad his shoulders were and presented the strength in his arms and hands to
masculine perfection. Gold-plated buttons made of the royal seal adorned crisp
navy sleeves.

Not wanting to miss a chance to tease
him, she said, “I don’t believe I have. General Ward, a pleasure,” she said,
bowing low in greeting.

Ryon growled beneath his breath. “Stop
bowing, Penelope, you’re being silly.”

“I was just telling His Majesty that I
would dance for him any time.” She held his gaze. A crowd of curious eyes had
gathered to watch the goings-on with the king. She had a feeling they’d write
about this interaction in the gossip column of the newspaper. “Have you ever
seen me dance, General? Or do you tend to leave before the performance is
finished?”

The king stifled a laugh under the guise
of a faux yawn.

Ryon looked away, perhaps trying for
patience.

“Excuse me,” he said, then grabbed her
elbow like he was her date. “We need to have a private conversation.”

The king nodded and didn’t bother hiding
his smile now.

Oh!
Penelope
seethed, they were
friends
. Of course! That traitorous king had just
handed her over to the beastly general like a hunk of cattle. Well, she’d have
to face Ryon sooner over later tonight. She might as well get the fun started
now.