The Warlord and the Assassin: A Fantasy Romance Novella (7 page)

“Why are you following the orders of an Eratean, Amina?”

In that moment, Amina felt more vulnerable than she ever had before. This strange man had come into her life and undone the tight layer of control she usually wove around herself. He’d undone her.
 

The bastard.

“My sister is an
ikana
in service to the Emperor.” Amina’s voice wavered. “Garul knows it. That’s how he has me do his bidding. He told me he’d have her sent to the whorehouses of Fortuna if I didn’t kill you.”

“I’m harder to kill than you might think.”

“Evidently.”

“But I’m glad.” Tarak encircled her slender wrist his hand. It was her knife throwing hand. “I’m glad a woman like you isn’t just a mindless mercenary. I’m glad there’s a reason you’re serving a worm like Garul.”

Amina tried to pull away, but Tarak was too strong. “But when he finds out you’re still alive, Warlord, my sister’s fate is sealed.”

“Let me do something about that. Because he’s going to find out, sooner or later.”

“What can you do? You can’t storm the capital with your army.” Amina ceased resisting as Tarak pulled her closer, their bodies meeting. Through the thin fabric of her tunic, Amina felt Tarak’s warmth. They stood there like that for a moment, as Tarak slid his other hand around her neck, his fingers trailing upwards, entangling in her short hair.
 

She looked up and saw that his eyes held a savage storm. In the quiet clearing, it felt as if they were the only two people on the continent. Amina became trapped in Tarak’s hungry, insistent gaze.

“What are you doing, Warlord?” she murmured, as her taut nipples brushed against his hard chest. Warmth pooled between her legs. Tarak released her wrist, his arm sliding around her back. He pulled her into him, their bodies moulding together.
 

Amina felt the hard length of his erection.
 

He felt good. He smelt good. He was warm and strong and impossible for Amina to resist.
 

She was losing herself in him.
 

“That first night, when you were in my chambers,” he growled, “I wanted you. I wanted you then, and I want you now. Will you forget your contract against me, Amina? We’d make much better lovers than enemies.”

Tarak’s confession floored her. Her resistance melted, just a little bit more. “Is seduction another tactic of yours,
Katach
?”

“I’ve never seduced an opponent in my life.” Tarak brought his hands down, sliding them over the curve of her back, to cup the rounded swell of her butt. He moved over the tops of her thighs, around to her pussy, where he felt the sensitive flesh through the damp fabric of her cotton pants.

Amina moaned, moving her hips back and forth.
 

“It appears to be a very effective tactic,” he whispered, finding the strings of her pants. He untied them with one deft hand, and the loose, cotton garment fell to her ankles, leaving Amina standing only in her thin, white undergarments.

She was losing her head. It felt as if they were trapped in some kind of surreal dream, where armies and borders and politics didn’t exist, and there was only Tarak.
 

Amina wanted him. So she decided, then and there, that she would, for the first time in her life, break the Inue code.
 

She could not kill this man.
 

Tarak’s fingers hooked under the hem of her tunic, lifting the garment over her head. Amina pulled it free, revealing the swell of her breasts, her nipples erect. She stood in the clearing, before the Warlord, naked and aroused.
 

He growled in approval, a low, primal sound. “Beautiful,” he murmured. In one swift, fluid movement, he dropped to his knees.
 

Amina shuddered with anticipation. Tarak put his mouth to the damp curls between her legs and kissed her there. Amina reached out and tangled her fingers in his wild, dark hair.
 

He sucked at her pussy, his warm tongue darting between the silken folds, teasing her clit. She rocked back and forth, pleasure flooding her core. Tarak slid his clever tongue around the sensitive nub, sending Amina to further heights of arousal. She closed her eyes, allowing waves of erotic bliss to overtake her.
 

In the grip of pleasure and lust, Amina’s
qwi
burst forth, wild and uncontrolled, surrounding them. The powerful energy of her aura whipped the dried leaves on the forest floor.
 

Tarak moved his tongue, faster and faster, gliding over her clit, stroking her to ecstasy. Amina cried out as he slid one of his long fingers into her pussy, stroking the sensitive flesh.
 

Faster.
 

His fingers moved. Harder, more insistent now.
 

His tongue stroked her.

The tight coil of bliss forming in her core built and built, as Amina shuddered. It came as small waves at first, growing bigger, more powerful, until they grew into a torrent, and pleasure washed over her; amazing, unearthly ecstasy.

Amina came, and came.
 

She cried out, not caring if her voice echoed through the whole damn forest. And her fighter’s aura, usually so controlled and quiet, whipped around them like a swirling dragon, joyous and unfettered.

Tarak slowed, then kissed the soft mound of her sex. He growled in satisfaction and rose, bringing his mouth to hers. His lips were warm, hungry, wanting. His tongue darted into her mouth, forceful and demanding.

Amina tasted him, and he was like spice and woodsmoke and something else, something dark and enticing. His cock pressed against her, and she slid her hand down to the strings of his dark robes, undoing the knot with nimble fingers.
 

Pushing the fabric aside revealed the hard, sculpted lines of his stomach muscles. Tarak Chul had an impressive warrior’s physique. Amina’s pussy throbbed. He was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen. She traced her hand down his rigid abdomen, to the vee at his hips, underneath the waistband of his loose pants. She took his cock into her hand, moving up and down its massive length.

It was Tarak’s turn to moan, a low, guttural sound.
 

With her other hand, Amina slid his pants down off his hips. Tarak’s erection sprang forth, its tip glistening with wetness. He kissed her again, pushing her back until she was pressed against the rough bark of the paperberry tree. Then Tarak lifted her up, and Amina wrapped her strong legs around his torso, as Tarak entered her. Gasping, Amina moved her hips back and forth, as the paperberry bark scraped her back, causing a faintly painful sensation. But pleasure overrode the pain. Tarak cupped his hands around her bare arse and thrust harder and harder, faster, grunting with lust and desire and satisfaction. He went deeper, and Amina cried out as, for the first time, she felt his
qwi
, released in a slow trickle, then bursting forth in a torrent, powerful and beautiful and terrifying.
 

It surrounded them, mingling with Amina’s aura, as they moved together, as one.

Tarak pumped his hips, and Amina rocked in response. The sensation was building again, her pleasure mounting, spreading through her as Tarak dragged her to the very edge of mindless bliss, and she wished they could stay like this forever, but she needed him to move now, to go harder, and she ground into him, needing him, digging her fingers into the hard, scarred flesh of his back, and as he cried out her voice joined his, and they orgasmed together, their twin
qwis
swirling and surrounding them with pure, unrestrained energy.
 

Amina shook, and came again, as Tarak’s seed entered her.

She became aware of everything, of the faint rustle of the breeze, and of Tarak’s
qwi
, slowly, gently withdrawn, as if he were untangling himself from her. She felt the rough bark of the tree trunk, under her bare back, and the faint sheen of sweat that glistened across her face. She looked into Tarak’s eyes and saw, in their endless depths, a fierce expression. Pride. Ownership.
 

He had claimed her, had taken what he wanted.
 

And he would do it again. And again.

Tarak planted a slow, tender kiss on her forehead. “Still having second thoughts?”

Amina shook her head slowly as he withdrew from her embrace. “You live up to your reputation,
Katach.”
Conqueror.
 

He looked at her in wonder, his depthless, dark eyes drinking in her flushed features. “You didn’t tell me it was your first time.”

Amina fought the blush that was spreading across her cheeks. “No, I didn’t.”

Tarak kissed her again. “Relax, Amina. You’re mine, now.”

Gently, he lowered her to the forest floor. Amina picked up her scattered clothes and dressed, as Tarak fastened his robes. “Shall we go and meet the Elders, Ami?”

“Just like that, Tarak?”

He held out his hand, offering her a warm smile, his perfect teeth so white against the burnt honey of his skin. Her heart threatened to melt, all over again.
 

Amina had always prided herself on being tough, a single minded killer. She carried out her hits without question, and was able to hide away any trace of remorse. But this man somehow found the woman in her, transforming her into the shy, young teenager she had been, before she went through her training.

“Come with me,” urged Tarak. “I need you, Amina.”

Amina hesitated, studying his face for any trace of deceit or falsehood. But what Tarak showed her was sincere. She took a tentative step forward, then slid her hand into his. Tarak squeezed her hand in his strong, warm grip.
 

They returned to the clearing, where Okuro had organized a fire. He had arranged small, wooden stools around the fire, and bid some of the younger girls to fetch them tea. Amina saw the other two elders, Arin and Temeka Kharan, sitting on either side of Okuro.
 

Arin Kharan was a former Inue assassin who had worked for the Varanese when the Erateans first occupied the region. Despite a spate of kills targeting prominent Eratean generals, the Varanese had ended up as the losing side, and many of them had been sold into slavery or forced to work in Eratean factories for a pittance.

Temeka was her husband, a swordsmith who fashioned blades of folded steel from rare callidum, mined from the steep slopes of the Esskar ranges. His swords were rare and highly sought after, and only distributed amongst the Inue.
 

At the far edge of the clearing, Tarak’s scary looking companion, the man named Kietesh, leaned against a tree, his features shrouded in shadow.

As they approached, Elder Okuro stared long and hard at the two of them. Feeling self conscious, Amina clasped her hands behind her back, avoiding his gaze. Okuro missed nothing, and she was sure he suspected something.

Tarak strode across the clearing, making his way to where the Elders sat. He bowed low. “My thanks for your time, esteemed Elders.” Then he stood, his deep voice echoing throughout the clearing. “I will save you any further worry, and assure you that Chukol village is safe. I will not reveal its location, and we are on the offensive against Jerik Garul’s army. Effectively, our negotiations are complete.”

Okuro raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are your terms, Warlord Chul?”

“In exchange for guaranteeing the safety of your people, I ask only one thing. I’m taking a daughter of the Inue with me.”

“What?” Arin Kharan rose out of her seat, shock reflected in her emerald eyes. Elder Okuro simply offered an enigmatic, all-knowing smile.
 

Arin turned to Amina. “Amina, what do you have to say about this?” Her tone was disapproving. The Inue were famously secretive and rarely married outside their culture. For all intents and purposes, Tarak was an outsider.
 

Amina stepped forward, shooting Tarak a pointed glare. “I was given a kill order and this man was my target. I’ve made two attempts on his life, and both times, to my eternal shame, he’s survived. It pains me to admit this in front of you. But for now, he has convinced me to put a freeze on the contract. I will go with him, on two conditions. One, that he ensure the safety of my people. Two, that he takes all measures possible to rescue Mira Sato, my sister. Should either of those conditions not be fulfilled, I will re-instate the kill order. Is that clear, Warlord?”

“Crystal.” Tarak grinned, flashing his white, perfect teeth. His canines were very slightly elongated, giving him a wolfish appearance. “That is why I need you, Amina. Your brutal honesty is a gift.”

“Idiot.” Amina rolled her eyes. This man was insufferable. In the midst of an Inue village, surrounded by warriors trained in the art of killing, he had the nerve to be amused.
 

Elder Okuro broke their exchange by clearing his phlegmy throat. “It seems there’s more to this than we know.” He sounded amused, as if he were watching over bickering children. “Very well, Amina, if you agree, then you may go.”

Tarak glanced across the clearing, towards his strange companion. “My brother, Kietesh Amun, will go and retrieve your sister from Adalan.”

“And he is who, again?” Smoothing her long, greying hair over her shoulder, Arin turned to look at the man. “How can one man expect to infiltrate the Emperor’s palace and escape alive?”

Her husband Temeka turned, studying the man called Kietesh with his still, grey eyes. Like Elder Okuro, the aging swordsmith missed nothing. “Master,” he called out, addressing Kietesh. “That’s Idiko’s sword you’ve got there, isn’t it?”

Kietesh offered a single, sharp nod.

A stillness fell over the three Elders, and they sat for a few moments, wrapped in silence, staring into the distance, as if they saw something that no-one else could. Finally, Elder Okuro spoke. “We won’t speak of her again. But if you were her apprentice, then you are more than qualified to bring Mira back. However, I forbid you to return to this village again. We don’t practise the Dark Arts here.”