It Wakes in Me (22 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: It Wakes in Me
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GROWN BEAR SMILED AS HE EXAMINED ANOTHER PIECE OF the jade jewelry: a magnificently carved bird pendant. His people had nothing like this. In the far north, where he planned to go, it would be worth enough to set him up as chief of his own village. He stuffed it into his belt pouch. He’d been packing off and on for over a moon, but he still felt as though he was forgetting something important. He fingered his chin as he looked around his house.
Painted shields, skulls, and weapons covered the walls. He couldn’t take them all. He had to decide which ones he wanted most.
He walked around the fire pit and studied a black shield decorated with two entwined serpents, one red, the other white. It was a beautiful thing. He’d taken it off the body of a dead Black Falcon warrior two winters ago. The skirmish at the edge of the disputed gathering grounds had been short. He’d killed one man; the others had gotten away.
Grown Bear pulled the shield off the wall and carried it across the room to place it beside his bulging pack with the other weapons he’d selected. As he lowered it, someone stepped beneath the door curtain behind him. From many winters of training, he grabbed a war club from the wall, spun around, and fell into a crouch, ready to bash out his assailant’s brains.
The fire’s low flames showed a hooded figure standing in the doorway.
He watched for a few moments, his fists gripping his club; when he realized it was a woman, he strode across the room, grabbed her by the wrist, and flung her face-first across the floor.
Her woven-moss hood fell back, and a torrent of raven hair tumbled over her face. More interesting, he could tell that beneath the cape, she wore nothing. A full bare breast gleamed.
“Who sent you?” he said, annoyed. “I didn’t ask for a woman.”
She lifted a slender hand, combed the hair out of her face, and looked up at him.
Grown Bear’s breath caught in his throat. “Chieftess Sora! What are you doing here? I heard you were lying half dead in Strongheart’s house.”
“No. I’ve been awake for quite a while. Awake and thinking about you.”
She curled her legs around and braced one hand on the floor, making no effort to cover her nakedness as she sat up. The posture was sensual. Through the open cape, he could see both of her breasts shining in the firelight, and her legs were spread just enough that he had a clear view of the dark opening between them. It looked moist. Ready for a man. The ends of her long hair spread around her hips and flowed across the floor behind her. The lustrous waves caught the light and
flashed it back like polished slate mirrors. Blessed Spirits, she had the most exquisite body he had ever seen. He had to force his gaze away, and even then, his manhood seemed to keep looking.
She tilted her head and smiled at him. “You’re going away soon. I had hoped we might talk before you left.”
“Yes, I’m going south with the jade party—”
“I don’t think so.”
She pointed at his overstuffed pack and the pile of belongings that surrounded it. “Warriors travel light, so they can run if necessary. You’re not going on a war walk. You’re moving away. Permanently.”
“You think you’re clever, do you? Sniffing out what I’m up to?”
She leaned forward, placed both hands in front of her, and arched her back, like a cat stretching in the sunlight. When she tipped her beautiful face to look up at him, he felt his loins stir. She had strange, powerful eyes, as black as bottomless wells. A man could get lost in those eyes.
“Oh, I know what you’re up to,” she said softly. “Flint told me all about it.”
“Did he? Only yesterday he pretended to know nothing about how I got the jade.”
Grown Bear walked across the room, pulled a gorgeous carved war lance off the wall, and placed it beside the black shield. From the corner of his eye, he saw her rise with the leggy grace of a young deer.
“Where will you go, Grown Bear?”
He patted his belt pouch. “Anywhere I wish, Chieftess. Water Hickory Clan has seen to that.”
She gazed up at him with wide dark eyes that seemed to know his very souls, and his manhood went rigid. She was a
chieftess, a forbidden woman, and she had clearly come here with one intention: to seduce him.
“You don’t really trust Wood Fern, do you?” she asked.
Grown Bear chuckled. “Of course not. Do you think I’m a fool? I have no doubts but that when this is over she will try to hunt me down. Gods, what an old hag.” He shook his head. “I’m glad she’s not my clan matron.”
Like a slender, beautiful Forest Spirit, she stepped closer to him. “Yes, I’ve just figured out what a shrewd, dangerous woman she is. That’s why she always opposed sending warriors after the jade. She knew it was a ruse. When everything was said and done, she would be a hero.”
Grown Bear laughed. “So you did figure it out. I’m proud of you.”
“Yes, me, too.”
She edged toward him, as though trying not to frighten him. He looked her over carefully. She couldn’t possibly be hiding a weapon on that voluptuous naked body, could she? His gaze dropped to the triangle of shining black hair between her legs. That would, of course, be the first place he searched.
Against his better judgment, he allowed her to slip her arms around his neck and press her body against his. She rubbed up against him like a cat seeking to be petted. An odd feral gleam lit her eyes.
In a swift violent move, he grabbed her around the waist, holding her still with one muscular arm while he thrust his free hand inside her.
He found only smooth, tight warmth. She moaned softly and began moving against his hand, trying to shove it deeper.
“Oh, is that what you like?” he said, and forced his fingers into her hard enough to make most women cry out in pain.
She, however, reached down, took his hand in both of hers, and tried to force it even deeper. The expression of ecstasy on her magnificent face as she moved against his fingers was almost too much to bear.
He grabbed her and carried her to his sleeping bench, where he laid her down and climbed on top of her. As he jerked up his shirt, his manhood thrust out like a thick war lance.
“Have you ever had anything like this, woman?”
She looked down, grasped his shaft, and squeezed. “Blessed gods, hurry. I want you inside me.”
He pried her apart with his fingers and forced his way inside. He’d heard that fool Flint say that she held a man like a fist, but he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined this! At first it felt like a hand gripping him, pulling and pushing; then it began to feel more like a greedy mouth, sucking as though to draw the very life from him.
She whispered in his ear, “When will they be here?”
“Don’t try to … ,” he gasped. “I’m not going to …”
He tried to hold back, to make it last longer, but too quickly he found himself lunging against her.
He almost didn’t hear her say, “Tomorrow?”
He shook his head and laughed at her, and she seemed to realize he meant
sooner
. “Oh, Hallowed Ancestors, I have never … felt … anything …”
“I’m about to make it better,” she hissed deliciously into his ear, rolled him to his back, and straddled him. Her breasts dragged across his chest as she moaned and moved against him. He gripped her right breast to suck it, and she tightened even more, milking him in sure powerful strokes. Her muscles held him captive, as though he were trapped inside her; he wasn’t sure he could have withdrawn if he’d wanted to. She kept moving, moaning, and he slammed himself against her,
trying to wring the last pleasure from her body. He roared when his seed jetted into her.
The metallic
tink
of a copper-studded war ax being lifted from the wall penetrated his awareness, but he …
FEATHER DANCER STRAIGHTENED WHEN HE HEARD SWIFT steps coming toward the Captives’ House. The guards outside whispered as the steps approached.
Strongheart said, “Is Flint in there?”
Flint, who sat beside Feather Dancer, gave him an askance look and got to his feet, preparing to go to the door.
“Yes, Priest,” the guard answered.
Before Flint had made it halfway across the floor, Strongheart threw aside the curtain and ducked into the room.
“What’s the matter?” Flint said as he rushed to meet him. “Is it Sora? What—”
“Where is she?” Strongheart demanded to know.
Flint blinked and took a step backward. “What are you talking about? She’s in your house, under guard.”
Strongheart grabbed Flint by the arm and hauled him toward the door, whispering, “No, she’s not. Both of the guards are dead, butchered like animals, and Grown Bear has a war ax buried in his skull!”
Even from the rear of the house, Feather Dancer could see Flint’s lips part in a silent cry before Strongheart dragged him through the door and out into the night.
Feather Dancer rose and walked to the door, listening through the curtain to the guards, who’d obviously heard the priest’s words.
“Stonefly,” one man hissed. “Go and see if he’s telling the truth about Grown Bear.”
Steps pounded away.
The man then turned and said, “Snow Cricket, come over here.”
When the man ran up, he said, “Go to the Priest’s House and check on Snail and Black Turtle. Come back immediately.”
More steps pounded away.
Feather Dancer pulled the curtain aside enough to see out into the plaza. It was pitch black and rainy. The remaining guards gathered into a murmuring knot about twenty paces from the house. It was strange to see so many men in the village. In fact, the sight made Feather Dancer’s shoulder muscles bunch. Had Grown Bear pulled them from their forest posts to guard the village? Or because he didn’t want his perimeter scouts reporting …
From out in the drenched forest came the distinctive whoops of Black Falcon warriors and Feather Dancer’s spine stiffened.
Surprised questions burst from the other captives. A few lurched to their feet.
The Eagle Flute warriors standing in the knot whirled as one to look in the direction of the cries. “What the—”
“Alarm! Shout the alarm!”
Warriors scattered like fish at a thrown rock, running in every direction to warn the village.
Feather Dancer swung around and hissed, “Get ready! We’re going to try to escape!”
Pipit was the first to dash to him. The other children followed her. Then, one by one, the adults crowded around the door. Even Cold Spring and Adder got to their feet.
“Be quiet. No matter what happens,
be quiet
! I want you to follow me. But if we get separated, run into the forest and head west.” He pointed in case some of the children didn’t know which direction was west. “They’ll never be able to track you in this darkness, and with luck, by tomorrow morning the rain will have covered your trails. Do you understand?”
Pipit’s eyes were wide and frightened, but she nodded and turned to the other children. “Stay close to me. I know how to get home. Just stay close.”
The warriors swept toward Eagle Flute Village like a screaming torrent.
Feather Dancer listened for an instant, trying to decipher their plan of attack. He didn’t want any of the captives to run headlong into Black Falcon warriors in the darkness. No one would be able to tell friend from foe.
“All right. Follow me!”
He threw back the curtain and lunged into the rain, heading for the shallow marsh.
Like wolves freed from ancient cages, the captives flooded out the door into the night.
A few heartbeats later, the Black Falcon warriors struck Eagle Flute Village, and the screams started … .

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