The Barbarian Prince (23 page)

"What the…? Rigan?"

Ualan looked at his wife. The house smelled of liquor. Glancing around at the bottles, he saw she had nearly wiped out the cabinet. Corks and ties were littered around the floor. Some of the bottles weren’t even meant for drinking. Cups, attesting to her hours of experimentation, were scattered about, some on the table and chairs. Ualan noticed that the more ‘interestingly strong’ blends were barely touched. He even saw a couple leading into the bathroom door. More worried about her than his liquor collection, he scowled.

Morrigan looked up and scowled drunkenly back. Ualan stood before her swimming eyes, dancing in and out of blurred vision. Oh, but he was still handsome. He had a great waist, a great chest. Morrigan hiccupped. He looked upset. His hands were on his hips, as he stared at her in disbelief. What was new? She snorted, picking up the last mixture and trying it again. Seeing the taste had not changed, she spit it out and cursed.

"The red is Qurilixian rum and the purple is a cooking spirit," he offered. "They don’t mix."

Morrigan frowned, lifting the purple and trying to read it. She had no luck. It wasn’t her language and it wasn’t in focus.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he demanded, looking at the mess she had made of his marble floor.

She flinched and wobbled to her feet. Slurring, she said, "Doon’t worrry, your grace, I, Mooorrigan, your humble and most obedient servant will…."

She tipped over when she tried to bow, hiccupping again. Her head spun in momentary circles but she was too drunk to notice. Ualan started to dart forward, but stopped when she righted herself holding his ceremonial knife.

"Give me that before you hurt yourself," he demanded, getting worried by the way she was swaying with it. If she fell over, she could do herself harm. His heart leapt in his throat when she stumbled again and the knife dipped low, nearly slicing through her thigh.

"No," she uttered. She had been using the tip of the blade to open bottles, now she pointed it at him.

"What do you think you are going to do with that?" he snarled in warning. His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared.

"I’m killing you!" she shouted.

Morrigan’s mind spun. The liquor only intensified her pain. She thought that if she just got drunk she would be able to block him out. But none of the bottles had worked. He was here, and he was so handsome. She just wanted him to look at her like he did the night of her coronation. She just wanted him to end the torture she felt. She just wanted him to want her again. Tears clouded her dark eyes, burning her nose. She wanted him to give her soul back.

"Rigan," he warned, starting to take a step forward. He thought better of it when she fearfully stumbled. Agony overwhelmed, intensified by the knowledge of her words to that man on the communicator. His gut had been rock-hard with pain ever since and now, to see her ready to kill him to be rid of him, it was the ultimate betrayal. "If you are going to strike me, then strike. But you best make the blow count, wife. You’ll only get this one chance."

Morrigan looked numbly at him and blinked. She couldn’t feel the teeth in her gums and she gnashed them together violently. The knife gripped in her hands. All she knew is that her soul had a hole in it and it was beginning to eat up her heart. She had to stop it. She had to stop the pain.

"I will," she uttered with another hiccup.

Ualan sensed what she was going to do, right before she turned the knife to her chest. Instinctively, he shifted. His skin hardened, turning a dark brown beneath his clothes. A line grew out from his forehead, pushed forward to make a hard plate of impermeable tissue over his nose and brow. His eye yellowed, able to see down to every microscopic movement of her tittering body. Talons grew from his nail beds and deadly fangs grew from his mouth.

With supernatural speed, he struck forward, throwing his own wrist before her heart to stop the blade. Since she was drunk her thrust was weak and the blade skidded off his armored skin, barely scratching him.

He ripped the blade from her fingers. Morrigan’s grasp had weakened to such a degree that she let him take it. He threw the knife behind him, ignoring its noisy crash on a wall. His dragon-like nostrils flared as he studied her.

Morrigan’s heart raced in excitement and fear. For some time she had been suspecting something like this, but not to such an extent. All the Qurilixian men’s eyes glowed eerily at times and once she had see Zoran’s skin shift slightly in color. It wasn’t as if shape shifting was all that unusual in the galaxies. She met several species that had the ability to some degree.

Her eyes blinked, trying to focus on his face in an attempt to take him in. Ualan forced himself to be still, bracing for the scream that would, must come. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Morrigan’s breathing deepened. She didn’t care that his features had shifted and changed. She didn’t care that his skin had hardened to press even more firmly than his muscles usually did. He was handsome to her. He was holding her. That was all that mattered.

His eyes, though different in color, were the same eyes she had fallen in love with. His chest heaved as he held her in his embrace, arms so strong and safe, arms she wanted to spend a lifetime in. She longed for him and it was painful, more painful than the wanderlust that normally consumed her.

Drunkenly, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. Ualan stiffened. He was stunned that she would so readily accept his shifting. Feeling her soft mouth pressing forward, he changed back to human form to better taste her offering. She tasted of liquor, but he didn’t care. It was sweet and her body was so soft.

Morrigan moaned. She felt him shift and ran her tongue to deepen the kiss. His skin became more pliable beneath her fingers. She jumped up, winding her legs around his sturdy waist, pushing naturally into his rising erection. His arms wrapped firmly about her buttocks to keep her there. Morrigan ground herself to him, rubbing passionately into his erection, trying to end her torment.

Ualan grunted to feel her damp heat searching for him. Nothing mattered, not her deceit or lies. She was a part of him, and he a part of her. Tomorrow would be for fighting. Tonight would be for….

"Upstairs," she growled in command, her lips bruising. Ualan didn’t need to be told twice. With all the pent up frustration and anger he’d felt since meeting her, he dashed up the stairs, carrying her easily in his arms.

Morrigan was tearing at his clothes before they even reached the top. He scorched her, made her lightheaded with his passion for her. She loosened her legs and Ualan dropped her to the floor. While she tore at his pants, sending excitement through his entire being, he backed her towards the bed.

Suddenly, her hand froze, halfway embedded on his hot erection, halfway curled over the rigid tip. Ualan pulled back in surprise just in time to see her eyes roll dangerously in her head. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have dropped to the floor, completely passed out.

Ualan gulped, panting wildly for breath, and trying to adjust to another let down of his desires. Shakily, he pulled her hand away from his arousal and lifted her up to set her tenderly on the bed. He was still trembling when he drew back to study her.

Tonight would be for…ever.

Chapter Sixteen

Morning was cruel and afternoon was nor much better. Morrigan woke up alone in Ualan’s bed instead of on his couch. Her head pounded in white-hot agony and she was lucky she remembered her medicine downstairs. She might not be suffering from butterfly poison, but according to her throbbing head, it was a poison that afflicted her.

Ualan was gone, but she saw the crumpled pillow on the couch signifying she had again slept alone. Vaguely remembering her degree of inebriation, she was surprised to find the house in order and the liquor cabinet completely locked up. Eyeing the laser lock silently, she laughed, and then winced at the pain the action caused. It wasn’t as if she would be trying that failed experiment again any time soon.

To her amazement, when she went back upstairs, she saw that Ualan’s weapons were gone from his closet. She frowned, suddenly recalling the knife she had taken. Surely the whole scene in the living room had been a dream. But, wait, the kisses had been real enough. Was the other stuff real as well? She didn’t actually try to stab herself in the heart, did she? Morrigan shook her head. No, it was impossible. She’d never do anything that stupid.

Refusing to move much further than the bed, Morrigan fell into it and soon was back asleep.

* * * *

"None of the men will fight us," said Zoran darkly to his brothers. He glanced from Ualan to Olek and then back again. "They say our mood is too black. They are frightened we will kill them."

Ualan looked over to the men who had carefully edged farther across the exercise field to get away from the angry Princes. He couldn’t say he blamed them. But it didn’t mean he had to like it. His lips curled into a snarl. Morrigan had pushed his body to the limit and he needed release--any kind of release.

Saying what they were all thinking, Olek growled, "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

* * * *

Olek and Nadja’s home was filled with lush plant life that grew out from the sunroom to wind around a door and part of the trellised ceiling. A giant fish tank took up an entire two walls, one clear with a giant pink sucker fish adhered to the glass, the second with dark murky waters they couldn’t see into except for hints of life that fluttered past the glass. In the center of the hall was a natural water fountain, relaxing and calm in its resplendent beauty. It too had plant life growing in its stone crevices.

Stretching her arms over her head, Morrigan yawned. She felt better, though her body ached when she moved and her head wasn’t quite right. Nadja and the other two Princesses were nice enough not to mention her unusually pale face and red eyes. At one point in their marriages to the Qurilixian Princes, they had all felt like doing the same.

"Hienrich is now training as a soldier. I released him from his duty to us," said Pia in answer to a question about the boy.

Olena didn’t understand, but the others nodded in agreement.

"So, have any of your husbands lied to you about whom they were?" asked Olena. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun and her green eyes flashed with continuous mischief, even when she wasn’t up to something. She looked none the worse for wear for her ordeal with the kidnappers, but she also wasn’t speaking of it.

"I thought mine was a prison guard," chuckled Pia.

"I use to call mine a gardener," mused Morrigan, tucking her hand beneath her head on the high-backed chair. "And a caveman."

The women laughed lightly. Nadja just blushed shyly, and admitted, "I call mine a dragon."

"They’re all dragons, if you ask me," Morrigan winked at Nadja.

Nadja giggled as she rose to answer a summons from the door. Blinking in surprise to see the Queen, she allowed her in.

Mede stepped into the intimate circle of women and nodded. "I heard you all were hiding out here."

"How’s Yusef?" asked Olena, suddenly blushing at the outburst. She refused to glance around at her comrades.

"Still awake," answered the Queen. "And still with his brothers. They speak of fighting and fighting always makes warriors happy, for it is something they know how to do."

Olena nodded, leaning back in her chair and trying to pretend she didn’t care either way. No one was fooled.

Mede glanced at Morrigan and raised her delicate brow slightly. Morrigan had to turn away. There was too much knowledge in that look. But, to her credit, the Queen said nothing.

Nadja suddenly asked if anyone wanted something to drink. Morrigan balked and instantly declined, turning a shade grayer. They all laughed.

"No, dear, we’re fine," answered the Queen. Silence followed. Mede was disappointed the women weren’t going to continue to talk freely with her present. She had heard their laughter and had been anxious to be a part of it. But, she also knew the women were troubled in their own ways. She couldn’t blame them. Her sons were great men, but were sometimes too stubborn for their own good. Announcing, she said, "Daughters."

The Princesses looked at her expectantly. Mede took a seat next to them.

"Enough of this. This planet is in desperate need of more women and I intend to see that each one of you to explore the power you possess. Your husbands are warriors. I expect each of you has a clear idea now of what that means. But just because they made the rules, doesn’t mean you can’t use them. You have more power than you think. So, tell me your problems with my sons and I will give you the Qurilixian solution. I think it’s time that the royal woman had the upper hand for once."

Slowly, one by one, the women smiled, growing more and more trusting of the earnest Queen. The Queen nodded, happy. Yes, this was how it was supposed to be with daughters. She had waited too many years to let her sons ruin her plans for a giant family.

"Pia," started the Queen, looking pointedly at the woman closest to her. "Why don’t you go first?"

* * * *

Morrigan couldn’t believe it, but she did indeed feel three-hundred percent better after her afternoon chat. The Queen was a great source of information and had been only too glad to inform her daughters in how to receive the upper hand. The chat made the women closer too--like family. Morrigan smiled. A girl really could use a family. Now, all she had to do was get her husband in line. But, first things first--it was time to ease their marital tension.

"Rigan?" called Ualan, stepping hurriedly from the door. It slid shut behind him. The lights were dimmed, but he had noticed his wife usually preferred the torches to the top dome light.

He clutched the missive he’d received in his hand. It said there was an emergency back home. The guard could tell him nothing else, even though the Prince had nearly shaken him with worry. When he left that morning, his wife had been breathing and appeared to be fine. Looking around the hall, he frowned. "Rigan?"