Longing's Levant (3 page)
As concentrated as his mind was on the matter at hand, Evann-Sin was too highly trained not to realize he was being followed when he left the burial site. Though whoever was trailing him was being cautious and staying well back to avoid notice, the warrior’s instinct for survival had picked up on the danger and a nagging ache began between his shoulder blades. He refrained from turning around to take a look, for he didn’t want his shadow to know he was aware of his presence. Rather than increasing his speed to outdistance the one behind him, Evann-Sin slowed the stallion to a slow trot.
The warrior continued on for several miles until he came to the place he sought. Ahead was a low mound of dunes that marked the beginning of the Quesa desert. Joshua trees bordered the vast sandscape between the
Dismounting at the pond, the warrior led his horse to drink. Hunkering down beside the clear water, Evann-Sin cupped his hand and splashed some of the liquid on his face, rubbing his eyes to help relieve the tiredness. A slight breeze chilled the water on his flesh and helped to ease the weariness that seemed to be as much a part of him of late as his thirst for revenge. He hung his head as he squatted there, feeling the exhaustion creeping up on him. Had he not been conscious of being followed, he would have taken out his bedroll and curled up under the stars to sleep for an hour or two.
But the keen awareness of the situation made him watchful and as he stood, he looked around him—
a natural thing under any circumstances
, he thought—but saw no rider hanging back along the road from Samarkan nor did he hear furtive sounds of approach.
Mentally shaking off the nagging feeling that persisted with tightness between his shoulders, Evann-Sin unhooked his water bag from the stallion’s saddle horn and uncorked it. As he brought the bag to his lips, something hard and unyielding slammed against the back of his head, and the gathering stars overhead fell with him to the ground.
* * * * *
There were six of them kneeling beside him—one at each limb, one at his head and another between his legs. A seventh stood gazing down at him with amusement. He struggled against the strong hands that held captive his wrists and ankles but it was useless. Naked, helpless and at their mercy, he viciously cursed them from beneath the rough cotton gag covering his mouth.
“Lie still, warrior,” their leader—the one grinning down at him—commanded and he recognized her as the one Tamara had called Sylviana. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
“This one is a fighter,” the one at his head observed.
“Aye,” said another,” but he will be conquered whether he likes it or not.”
Laughter made the circuit of those gathered around the warrior.
Grunting with disgust, his face stained dark red with humiliation, Evann-Sin angrily shook his head from side-to-side, his sweat-dampened black curls glinting in the glow of a campfire.
“There is no denying your fate, warrior,” the leader told him. “Protest all you will but the outcome will be the same.”
“Here is the brew, Sylviana,” an eighth intruder spoke, and Evann-Sin swung his head toward the voice. Fury turned his amber eyes to glacial chips and he howled beneath the constriction of the gag when he saw what was being offered.
“Ah, I believe he knows what that is,” the leader quipped.
The one kneeling between his legs took the bottle from the newcomer and uncorked it. The sweet scent of gardenia filled the night air. In the shifting glow of the firelight, he watched as the contents of the cobalt-blue bottle were poured into waiting palms. There was a sucking sound as those palms were rubbed together to heat the oil. He flinched as they put their hands on him, smearing the slick oil on his flesh.
Every inch of his chest and abdomen was being coated with the warm lubricant. He wriggled beneath the feel of it, his nostrils flaring, his skin pebbling with goose bumps. As a hand smoothed over his side, along his rib cage, he tried to shift away from the contact but it was useless. Fingers were spreading over his belly and along his thighs, nails were grazing his shrinking testicles and he drew in an alarmed breath.
“Oil his shaft well,” the leader instructed. “The less friction in the steel the better the weapon penetrates.”
More laughter accompanied Evann-Sin’s constricted shriek of outrage at that remark. He bucked under the restraint, dug his heels into the sand, his fingers clawing at the ground beneath them.
Intense rage filled his brain as a hot hand wrapped around his penis. Strong fingers slid up and down his flesh, manipulating his sleeping member until it roused from its slumber and lifted its head to see who had awakened it.
“His is a well-made sword,” the one between his legs commented.
“Aye,” the leader agreed. “And we will sheathe it well, don’t you think?”
Grunting furiously behind the gag, Evann-Sin mentally ordered his rebellious soldier to stand down, but the chafing being generated by the strong fingers sliding down his length held more sway.
“Relax, warrior,” the leader said, hunkering down beside him. “Allow yourself to enjoy your fate. You’re not the first we’ve captured and you’ll not be the last.”
The strain of trying to make his shaft disregard the squeezing, gentle twisting motion sliding up and down it was beginning to take its toll on Evann-Sin. Sweat glistened on his forehead and upper lip, and ran in rivulets down his heaving chest.
“He is as hard as stone,” the one holding his penis remarked.
“Give me the elixir, Sagira,” the leader demanded.
“What is it we rub into him?” a young woman inquired.
“A very potent Akkadian elixir called guššurum, their word for ‘to be very strong’. It is distilled from the brew of opium and thorn apples. It will keep his shaft as tempered as steel until we are through with him,” one of the women chuckled.
“His kind have been raping women since the dawn of time,” another put in. “It’s time they find out what it feels like to be taken against your will!”
“Aye,” Sylviana agreed. “Time and time again until his shaft is a bruised and bloodied stump before we slice it from his arrogant ass.”
The loud screech that erupted from the warrior’s throat was ignored as a second bottle was produced and handed to the one kneeling at his head.
“Tip his head back. Be careful he doesn’t bite you when you remove the gag,” the leader warned.
Anchoring the warrior’s cheeks between firm palms, the one above the warrior lifted his head and tilted it back. The one on his left side reached under his neck to untie the gag then moved back quickly so there was no chance for Evann-Sin to snag his bared teeth in his captor’s arm.
“You bitches will…” he began then snapped his jaw fiercely shut as the bottle was brought to his lips. His eyes glowed hell-hot as the woman on his left tried to pry his lips apart.
“Pinch closed his nose,” the leader said. “He’ll have to open those pretty lips sooner or later.”
The women kneeling around Evann-Sin bided their time as the one on his left squeezed his nostrils together. They watched as his handsome face turned red then took on a slight bluish cast.
“He has a strong will,” someone commented.
“Nay,” the leader replied. “He’s simply stubborn as are all men.”
As the minutes ticked by and the loss of oxygen to his brain began to etch darkness around his vision, Evann-Sin knew he would be unable to keep his lips closed much longer. The moment his lips parted, the women warriors who had captured him would pour the contents of the bottle down his throat, and he would be lost because he knew damned well what was in the elixir he was being forced to drink. The thought of being unable to control either his weapon or his lust filled him with absolute fear.
“He’s lost the steel in his sword,” the one between his legs said with a sigh.
“It will return tenfold as soon as the elixir is administered, Hael,” the leader assured her.
Feeling his consciousness slowly fading, his head throbbing with the pressure, it was only a matter of a few seconds more before Evann-Sin gave up and he gasped in the precious air. Not giving him the chance to clamp his jaws shut again, the bottle was thrust into his mouth and the contents poured in. He gagged as the sickly sweet liquid flowed in. An oily hand was slapped over his mouth to keep him from spitting it out. Sucking air through his nose, he felt as though he were drowning in the liquid he was holding in his mouth.
“We can wait longer than you, warrior,” the leader chuckled, folding her arms over her shapely bosom.
No drop of liquid from the bottle had escaped Evann-Sin’s mouth. Though he could taste the fluid, it had numbed his tongue so completely he could no longer feel that muscle. With every breath he drew in through his distended nostrils, the flavor of the liquid invaded his taste buds.
“Distract him,” the leader suggested. “Give him something to occupy his mind.”
Laughter punctuated her words, and Evann-Sin groaned as oily hands returned to his flaccid flesh. As two women plucked alternately at his nipples, pinching the sensitive nubs between wickedly sharp fingernails, another circled his belly button with an insistent thumb, dipping into the deep concavity to tickle him. The one whose firm fingers circled his penis began her ritual once more, twisting down firmly, tugging up tightly then circling the swollen head with the center of her greasy palm.
“Such remarkable restraint,” a woman said.
“Not for much longer,” the one holding his shaft replied. With one hand wrapped around him, her thumb and forefinger squeezing until the opening of his penis flared open, she used her other hand to slip a fingernail into the slit and scratch delicately.
Evann-Sin drew in a sharp breath through his nose and nearly choked on the liquid in his mouth. He groaned, his body shivering with a desire he was having trouble controlling. When her fingers slid under his scrotum, cupped, then squeezed lightly, her middle fingernail dragging along the sensitive ridges, he could no longer hold the liquid in his mouth and reluctantly swallowed it, closing his eyes in surrender.
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it, warrior?” the leader inquired.
He refused to open his eyes. Even when his mouth was free of the woman’s hand, he would not look up at his captors. He would mutter no word. Humiliated as he was, shame filling his immortal soul, he kept his eyes closed until the moment the elixir invaded his system and changed his world forever.
“Here it comes,” someone said with a knowing chuckle.
The first thing Evann-Sin noticed was the intense heat that rippled through his body from the scalp of his head to the pads of his toes. It felt as though he had opened an oven door and stepped inside. The strength of the warmth was such that he tried to gasp in an equalizing breath, trying to cool his flesh, but the heat increased until every pore of his skin oozed sweat.
Then the need began to build in his loins, flaring wide his eyes.
“Ah,” the women sighed in unison when they saw their captive begin to squirm against the growing feeling in his shaft. They got to their feet and stared down at him as he arched his hips upward, groaning as need flooded his lower body.
Never had he known such powerful lust.
Never had he felt such a rigid erection as the one that now stood at attention between his thighs—throbbing, aching and oozing passion’s nectar from its swollen tip.
Wiggling his hips in the sand, unconsciously straining his cock toward the woman kneeling between his legs, Evann-Sin began to pant.
“Who is to be first?” the leader inquired, looking around her.
“I drew the longest straw,” Sagira said breathlessly. She waited until another woman gripped his right ankle before getting to her feet.
“Sheathe him well, then, Sagira,” the leader said.
Evann-Sin’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Sagira began removing her short tunic. She smiled wickedly at him as the tunic slid to her feet and she was revealed to him in her youthful voluptuousness.
“Like what you see, warrior?” she asked.
“Go to hell,” Evann-Sin snarled, his numb tongue having trouble forming the words.
“I’d rather take
you
to the heavens, my handsome one,” Sagira giggled then squatted over him, her wiry pelt poised at the surging head of his shaft.
Digging his hands into the sand, Evann-Sin turned his head away, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. He could do nothing about the raging passion in his body but neither would he strive to take pleasure from the rape that was about to take place.
Though he wished otherwise, Sagira was a beautiful woman with lush breasts and long tapered legs. She smelled of lilacs and when she leaned over him, her long hair tickled his bare chest as though a hundred eager fingers were caressing him. Her womanhood was hot and velvety smooth as it slid down the turgid length of him. The weight of her rump on his upper thighs, her pelvis on his lower belly spurred the hot passion coursing through him and he strained upward, wanting as much of his shaft to penetrate her body as possible.
