The Chieftain’s Daughter (7 page)

“Stop.”

“Aloran?” Dahlia’s tone expressed her confusion, and reluctantly she lowered her bow, the muscles in her upper back tense.

Ishara watched Aloran as he brushed past the other five men and hurried toward them. He did not seem angry or as ready to fight as the others. No, he was calm—controlled. Up to something.

Stopping before Ishara, the son of the chieftain stared her down, making her feel small. Defenseless. She squared her shoulders, trying to make herself taller.

Aloran smiled, his lips curling into a haughty grin. “I told you I would make you mine.”

Chapter Eight

“You did not need her anyway.”

Mechan hardly paid attention to Zari, who had been coming by ever since Ishara was discovered missing. He knew the woman had her own ambitions. In the past, he had rejected her proposals of marriage at least a dozen times. Today, the chieftain did not want to deal with her or her conniving ways.

“The daughter of a chieftain. The whole situation would have brought problems. How long do you think you could have kept her before her father showed up to take her back?” Zari faced the elder tree branch, one hand on her chin.

Mechan sighed and went back to cleaning off his machete. Earlier that day, he had gone hunting and found a worthy foe—a stag. The blood stained the cool metal of his weapon, painting it a dark, purple-red hue. Would she ever stop talking? He thought about throwing her out and making it clear that she wasn’t welcome to invite herself in whenever she pleased, but he could not slight the woman’s family by embarrassing her. They made up a good portion of his tribe and on their own would be a formidable enemy if they chose to leave. And her father was more exhausting than she was.

“I still do not understand why you do not get rid of this thing. I mean, it does not serve a purpose anymore, and soon it can be replaced with a…more attractive one.” Zari spoke the unspeakable.

“Leave it.” Mechan grunted in annoyance.

Zari turned away from the branch, and Mechan caught her rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to be so serious.” She knelt down beside him, intimately resting her cold fingers on his forearm.

“You should go for tonight, Zari. I am going to sleep.” Mechan avoided looking up into her unsettling eyes. Instead, he brushed a cloth up the length of the blade to soak up the blood.

Silence lingered between the two of them. Outside, the singing bugs filled the night air with their songs, lengthening the silence in his home.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“I said that you can go.” His request bordered on the line of a command.

“In a moment.” Zari withdrew her hand, ducking her head down so that her face got in the way of Mechan’s weapon cleaning. “Tell me that you don’t miss her, Mechan. She’s a damned slave. The daughter of your enemy! It is foolish to feel for a slave, let alone the enemy.”

Mechan shifted his gaze from the blade to Zari. She immediately backed away from him, but not too far.

“She is old enough to be your daughter for Spirit’s sakes. The very idea of you having feelings for her… It…it is…” Zari’s hands balled up in fists and she rose. “It is weak!”

Something triggered inside Mechan. Something dangerous.

He didn’t know what it was that gripped hold of him and forced him to his feet. Maybe the very Spirits themselves entered him, driving him forward. He couldn’t control his movements when he took Zari by her throat, pushing her back toward the entrance of the tent. It told him to protect himself. To protect Ishara. His Ishara.

She gasped for air, choking it down in panicked gasps, her untrusting eyes wide and scared. With a gentle shove, Mechan tossed her out of the tent. The woman’s body crumpled on the ground, and she lifted both of her hands up to her chest.

“Call me weak again, woman, and I won’t be as kind.” He pointed somewhere off in the distance. “Get out of my sight. I would suggest you do not cross it any time soon.”

Zari pushed herself off the ground, turning to find dozens of pairs of eyes peeking out of the tents around the camp. They witnessed it all. Her face turned red with anger and she spun back around to point at Mechan. “There is no excuse for loving the enemy. I am a hundred times better than that little slut. Remember that.”

The woman stalked off into the forest. He was filled with the Spirits. His heart beat too fast and he felt more alive than he ever had in a long time. But what possessed him, exactly? Somewhere next to him, a little girl giggled from a tent, “He’s in love!”

* * *

“No, Aloran. I think you have your head up in your ass somewhere.” Ishara took a step back.

Spirits, her eyes. And those tits…my father didn’t know what he had
. Aloran lifted his hand and made a strange motion with it, twirling a finger in the air. At once, the men behind him grabbed Dahlia, completely taking her off-guard. She struggled as they roped her hands together, binding them behind her back.

“Let go! You have no right to do this to me,” Dahlia protested, squirming against the many hands that kept her from running.

Ishara took a step forward, starting in the direction of her bound friend, but Aloran sidestepped, blocking her off completely. “I don’t think you understand how this is going to go, slave.”

Ishara smiled. It was the same smile she used with his father. Alluring. Misleading. “I don’t think that you understand. I am not your slave.” She stamped her heel down hard on Aloran’s foot, and he yelped in pain.

Stunned, he reached out to grab the Oolani woman before she could get away, but strangely enough, she didn’t run to the forest. She ran toward Dahlia, pulling her spear out faster than the man who held Dahlia could react. With a thrust, she dug it into the man’s leg. The spear stuck out of his thigh, the head having gone through the skin and through the bone.

“Subdue her,” Aloran ordered, impatient with Ishara’s antics. “She is going to have to learn the hard way that when I say I want something, I get it.”

Two of the men grabbed Ishara by her arms, one on each side. She thrashed about, trying to yank her small wrists from their grips, but the Manahotchi stood strong.

“I said I wanted to taste the victory of Oolani blood, and I got it.” Aloran closed the space between him and the caught slave. Reaching out, he cradled Ishara’s chin in his hand, almost too intimately. Pressing his fingers into her skin, he examined her exotic green eyes and her soft, pale skin. She looked nothing like they did. In fact, she looked nothing like the typical Oolani either. She was different. A prize to be had.

“I wanted a slave like no other, and I have it. I want my father’s place in the tribe and…” He licked the side of Ishara’s face, tasting the dirt and grime. Ishara writhed, seethed. “I will get that too.”

She spit in Aloran’s face, like she did when she was in the slave pen. This time, though, she belonged to him. This time, he could punish her for it. Aloran cracked the back of his hand against her cheek, leaving the red imprints of his fingers on her beautiful face. Remarkably, the woman did not flinch.

“You will never get that, you coward. Your father is ten times more the man that you will ever be. Sneaking around behind his back. Buying the loyalties of others. Killing despite the orders not to kill.” Ishara yanked her arms downward, trying to break free. “You will never be chieftain.”

“You have much to learn. Let’s start with teaching you that you are mine.” Aloran pushed Ishara down onto the ground, and naturally the other men let go. She scrambled to get away, and the fear in her eyes made Aloran’s cock harden. That, and the sight of her tight little ass, her tiny waist. He would have her. Finally.

Aloran grabbed Ishara by the ankle, and with one, firm yank, he pulled her back to him. She desperately tried to claw herself away.

Behind them, Dahlia yelled out in protest. “Leave her be. Leave her be!”

“I will have you over and over and over again. You’ll beg me to stop, and I won’t.” Aloran pushed Ishara’s dress up over her waist, exposing the curves of her bottom and the soft mound of hair between her legs.

Freeing his hardened shaft from his loincloth, Aloran readied himself for his next conquest.

A shrill scream pierced through the air. Before Aloran could turn around to find the source, he was knocked forward to the forest floor and the world went black. Blinking himself back into reality, he quickly got to his hands and knees. He heard a growl from behind him, and the sickening snapping of bones. He glanced back down at the empty ground. Ishara.

She broke free.

“Ishara! Damn you!”

Glancing behind him, Aloran witnessed something he never expected to see—a jungle lioness tearing the limbs off the Manahotchi men that he brought with him. Dahlia also was nowhere to be found.

It all moved too quickly for Aloran, but he stole the chance to break free while the lioness feasted, her muzzle stained with blood.

Somehow, this was Ishara’s fault and when he found her, she’d pay.

Chapter Nine

Ishara ran so quickly that the sting of branches and vines whipping past her face did not bother her. Dahlia raced ahead, and although Ishara didn’t know the way back to camp, something instinctively pulled her in the right direction.

Small rocks, bugs, and thorns embedded themselves into the soles of her feet, which were moving as quickly as she possibly could make them. She bounded over a fallen tree, slogged through a swampy marsh, and kept on running, never looking back. She knew that Aloran could not be too far behind, if he managed to break free.

After what seemed like hours of running, Dahlia came to a screeching halt and put her hands on her knees, hunched over, and panted. Ishara nearly tumbled over the huntress, but managed to stop just short of pummeling her into the ground, halting only when someone large and firm stepped out in front of her.

Mechan.

Lifting her gaze upward, she gave up trying to catch her breath. He already stole it from her.

“Mechan.”

He didn’t say anything; instead, he surveyed both of them. The camp remained still, as if everyone forgot to breathe and not just Ishara.

Immediately, Ishara forgot everything about Aloran, her near claiming, and the lioness that had made a feast out of his tribesmen. She did remember her offense and the pain she’d caused. “Mechan… Mechan…you must forgive me. I didn’t mean what I did. I promise I didn’t mean it.” She heard her words echo back to her and realized how childish she sounded.

Dahlia stepped forward, her hand to her chest in an effort to catch her breath. “Chieftain, your son—”

Mechan held up his hand, cutting Dahlia off. His intense, steady eyes fixated on the tooth that Ishara still wore around her neck.

She still hadn’t removed it, and with a quick glance down at her chest, she grimaced at the chipped bone She’d ruined it. He’d never forgive her now.

Mechan reached forward, taking the tooth in his fingers, brushing a thumb over its smooth surface and its jagged edges.

Ishara held her breath
.
What could she do? What could she do? Finally, she softly whispered, “Please.”

Mechan’s hand moved from the necklace to the side of Ishara’s face. The curve of her jaw fit perfectly within one of his large palms. Comfort and calm swept through her body, purging her of the fear and anxiety from the encounter before.

I know you didn’t mean it, Ishara,” Mechan said, his words only loud enough that the two of them could hear it. “I knew it then…and I didn’t know how to react. I…you…” His stare focused back on the necklace.

Ishara shook her head, her long dread locks brushing against the small of her back, which was marked with small scrapes and cuts from her flight back to camp. “I know.” He didn’t even have to say the words. Somehow, she knew.

Mechan leaned forward and pushed his thick, soft lips against hers. Though surprised, Ishara melted into the kiss, parting her lips to slip her tongue out to touch his. She longed for this. Whatever showed her the way home, whatever drew her back here, it intensified, then quelled, making Ishara feel overwhelmingly content, like she belonged to this moment.

A hand closed around Ishara’s wrist, and as Mechan parted from the kiss, he turned and gently tugged Ishara along behind him. She cast a look behind her at Dahlia, who smiled at her, but seemed concerned and flighty.

She studied the faces as she passed through the camp, faces with smiles. Relief. They seemingly forgot that Ishara was not only a slave, but an Oolani, their enemy. They accepted her, and she followed Mechan willingly into his tent.

It felt right. She knew it was right.

As soon as she and Mechan were in the tent, he turned and kissed her again. This time, it wasn’t for show. It wasn’t gentle and relieving. It was hungry. Impassioned. It was needed.

Ishara responded in much the same way, shedding the belt from around her waist as she continued through the kiss. “What do we do now?”

Mechan laughed, glancing down to the obvious erection that poked against his loincloth and brushed Ishara’s leg. “Is it not obvious?” He smiled when her cheeks warmed in a blush. “How are you so beautiful?”

“I…I don’t know. My father said I was born under a certain star.” Ishara’s fingers curled around the thong of the leather loincloth, and she began to untie the knots. “And I do not mean what do we do now. I mean…after this…what do we do?”

“You
were
born of a certain star,” Mechan echoed. “And you will be mine after this.”

Ishara untied one knot, and the loincloth fell to the floor in a crumpled mess. His shaft was completely freed, engorged and throbbing with need. He hadn’t had a woman since his wife died, and she wondered just how much he wanted her now.

“Yours? But I am already your slave.”

“No.” Mechan lifted Ishara’s chin again. “Not as my slave. As mine. My wife. Bound. This will be our Union.”

“Our…U-union?” Ishara never took her eyes off him, but her thigh brushed against his hungry cock. He sucked in a steady breath. “But I am Oolani.” She ignored his erection against her leg, hoping he would explain how he thought they could be together.

Mechan scooped her up into his arms so that she straddled his waist and took her into his sleeping area. Perhaps he had enough talking. “You are nothing but mine.”

The chieftain laid Ishara back in the mound of furs piled in the corner of the tent. The soft bristles relieved the poor condition of her back, but what felt better was Mechan’s mouth over hers, her tongue playing with his.

She didn’t know what she was doing, but something drove her to keep going and not hesitate. Ishara would be a wife when this was over. The wife of the enemy.

Mechan crawled between her legs, moving over her small form. The tip of his penis brushed against her leg, her mound, her stomach, and it stopped there. A hand gently parted her thighs, and much like the first time he touched her, she knew he felt the heat from her pussy before he even touched her.

He ran his finger up between the slick folds of her labia, lubricating them, then glided it around the swollen nub that ached for attention. Ishara lifted her back off the furs, arching it, and pushing her hips downward, grinding against his hand. A moan escaped her, only to be followed by another, then another.

The chieftain relentlessly rubbed at her clit, moving his fingers in what seemed like a million, tantalizing circles. Ishara rocked her hips in some kind of offbeat rhythm. The mounting tension and waves of pleasure began to rise from deep inside her. “Stop. You’ll make me… You’ll…”

Mechan shook his head and ignored her plea. He wasn’t going to stop. He didn’t even bother to stifle her moans with kisses, and the noise rose from her in rapid, increasing succession. Louder. There was no stopping the pleasure.

She lifted her hand to grope at her own breast, kneading it, palms raking over her hardened nipples. Ishara wanted him to touch all of her at once. “Mechan…” The name flowed from her mouth as naturally as her groaning did. “Mechan.”

And just before she thought she’d be overcome by ecstasy and unleashed pleasure, Mechan drew away from her, leaving her there, pressing her legs together, trying to stop the wave from exploding. It threatened to break, and she whimpered as it began to fade and her breathing slowed.

“Why did you stop?”

Mechan pushed one of her knees back, bending it out of the way. His answer came in the form of slowly pushing his cock into her. Within seconds, her virginity was no more. She gasped out in pain, her fingers pressing into his thick biceps to still him, and he followed her lead, slowing himself until she was ready again. After a moment of adjusting, Ishara nodded her head for him to continue, and he gently pushed in deeper. Mechan had claimed her, and although she was in slight pain, Ishara loved every moment of it.

“Oh, spirits…” she moaned, pressing her fingers into the fur pelts underneath her. “More.” The chieftain smirked and with one thrust, he completely buried himself into her wet depths. Leaning over her form, his lips came close to hers, warm and soft. He groaned next to her ear and thrust again.

Ishara met the thrust by wrapping a leg around his own, pushing her heel into his hips. She needed the pain. She needed to know that he was hers just as much as she had been his. “Fuck me, Mechan. I need you to fuck me.” The words were crude, but Ishara couldn’t help herself. She wanted to be fucked. Relentlessly.

Mechan didn’t wait another moment. He started a steady, bucking rhythm that shook Ishara and sent shivers through her body. Immediately and unexpectedly, an orgasm tore through her body, seizing her, stilling her breath.

She moaned as an afterthought, her cries of pleasure ringing beyond the tent and around the camp. Ishara could not stop writhing against him, but it did not matter, as Mechan did not stop either. With one tug, he pulled Ishara up out of the furs while he sat back in them.

She knelt before her husband, staring openly at his glistening cock, which jerked hungrily. Spirits, she wanted it in her again. Her mouth. Her pussy. “Don’t stop, Mechan.”

“Come here,” Mechan instructed in a husky voice.

As Ishara crawled toward him, the chieftain guided her to straddle over his lap, hovering above his erection. His hands rested on her curves, fingers pressing into her hip bones. With a gentle push, he lowered her down onto his prick, already lubricated with her wetness. Ishara sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a pleased hum.

Mechan didn’t stop with lowering her. Once he filled her to the hilt, he pulled her hips back up, and then slammed them back down. “You feel so good.” His fingernails pressed into Ishara’s skin, and he pushed her down once more. The next time she rose, Mechan bit her nipple, rolling his tongue over the little nub.

It didn’t take long for Ishara to pick up on the motion. She bounced on his cock, breasts jiggling, and at times, meeting with his mouth. Each time she fell back down on his cock, Mechan grunted, moaned, and pushed her hips down harder. Deep within her, the familiar, warm sensation quickly began to mount again. This time, though, she was in control.

And Ishara wasn’t stopping.

Practically screaming in pleasure, she used Mechan’s shoulders as leverage as her ass slammed down onto his thighs, over and over again. Often, she would pause to roll her hips, rubbing her clit against his skin, burying him deeper within her. The orgasm peeled apart, blossomed, taking Ishara over the edge.

As her pussy tightened around Mechan, he tensed, his cock jerked, and he spilled his seed into her with a loud moan of his own. Ishara’s lips searched for his, and he held her face with both of his hands, kissing her fully, passionately. They kissed for what seemed like forever, with him still inside her.

“I want you like this, always.” Ishara’s words were spoken somewhere inside the kiss.

“Ishara,” Mechan whispered back, “you have me. Always.”