VirtualWarrior (35 page)

“Let’s make some kids.” He kissed the edge of her mouth. He
thumbed the hard peak of her breast. Then he wanted her so badly, he knew he
could not go slowly and gently. He put his arms around her and pulled her to
the ground.

She fell back with equal eagerness, wrapped her legs about
his hips, and cried out loud when he surged into her.

He gasped and fought for control, felt her nails dig into
his back, and knew it was a battle he’d lose.

Ardra held him as tightly as she could. His ear was by her
mouth. She took his earlobe between her teeth, gripped the viper earring, and
tugged. He moaned and pushed forward—to her heart—to the very center of her
being.

Tears filled her eyes. Then his mouth covered hers. She
moved her tongue against his, tasted him, reveled in the hard muscles under her
hands, the smooth, fluid motion of his body.

A hot coil of need burst open. It shot down her arms and
legs. She held on to him, head back, every muscle of her body quivering. He
surged deeper when she cried out and held still. She used him as an anchor,
battering the tide of her climax against him.

Then she moaned and let out her breath, not realizing she
had held it so tightly in her chest. He pushed up on his hands, continued to
thrust within her, eyes closed.

She watched his face, her hands on his shoulders, her thighs
still quivering against his hips. She stared at the sight of their joining and
watched his chain with its impossible glass roses swing back and forth with
every move of his hips.

He drew out, then pushed in with a slowness that made her
want to scream. Then he groaned, opened his eyes a brief instant, and dropped
his head.

His mouth was hot and wet on her throat as he poured forth
his essence.

They lay on their backs, fingers entwined, and watched the
sky lighten through the trees. They talked of her father. Of Tol. Of her child.
And their future children.

Then he wanted her again.

How warm her lips were on his neck, his shoulder, her teeth
a counterpoint to the gentle sweeps of her tongue. He lifted her onto his hips,
guided himself into the slick, wet heat of her.

“I want to watch your face—every mood, every expression.” He
shifted his hips.

Her eyes widened. She licked her finger, drew it down her
breast, and touched the artwork on his arm. A thunderbolt of ecstasy ran
through him, purely visceral, completely unexpected, as strong as any orgasm.
He arched involuntarily, bucked against her.

Her hair fell in a glorious tumbling mass of heavy silk that
caressed his chest and arms.

He gripped her bottom, raised and lowered her, brought
himself to the edge, but held it off for her.

She gasped. Someone moaned—him.

When he reached up to trace her face, she tongued his palm,
and a spasm of heat took hold of him and squeezed like a fist.

He would never tire of her golden eyes, her full lips, her
nipples tipped with coral. “I love everything about you,” he managed before he
came. Then he couldn’t talk. He could only bury his face against her and hang
on.

She slept in his arms, wrapped in her tunic. Her lips were
slightly open, her breath feathering the skin of his arm—an arm with three
silver rings. Rings that somehow fit well with the coils of his tattoo.

He stroked her hair and looked up at the night sky. Four
strange moons stood like sentinels overhead, completely alien to his world.

“Are you missing your home?” she asked.

“No. Just thinking that one day I’ll have to let Gwen know
I’m all right.”

She sat up and hugged her knees. “I know I will never truly
understand how you appeared just when I needed you, but I suspect it was not
from across the ice fields.”

“I don’t think it was—but I don’t really know it wasn’t,
either.”

“Will you come back?”

“Come back?”

“Aye, when you go to tell Gwen you are fine. Will you return
to me?”

“Yes. Trust me. I’ll never leave you.” He lifted her chin
and forced her to look at him. “I just lifemated myself to you, pledged myself
to be a warrior at your side. We probably made a little Ardra just now, I’m not
going anywhere.”

“It was beautiful, having you inside me, part of me,” she
whispered. “Was it like…a warm, snug glove?”

“Yes. For the first time, the glove was truly a perfect
fit.”

She rubbed her thumb on his lower lip. “Fit me again.”

His hand moved in a languid exploration from her throat to
her knee. “With pleasure.”

She knew what would happen now when he slid between her
thighs. The image of him as he had looked standing on the ramparts, his stick
raised, sent a fireball of sensation through her, like lightning striking her.

But it was her name on his lips as much as his manhood
sliding inside her that sent her over the edge.

The abyss was deep, and filled with roiling, hot shards of
pleasure. He held her tightly, murmured her name, helped her to ride the
pleasure by pushing hard against her.

They lay still again, connected, slick, wet, panting.

“I hope we made a child,” she said.

“A daughter who looks just like you. Someone for your son to
protect.”

“Protect? Nay, stand beside and guide.”

He pulled out of her. She rolled to her side and he fitted
himself around her, her back against his chest. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Sure. I’ll sit on a wiseman’s bench somewhere in the sun
while you do whatever it is you do while ruling a fortress.”

Ardra smiled at the thought. “You wanted to be a teacher,
Lien. You could do that, you know. My people need someone strong to teach
them.” She folded her arms over his and locked fingers with him. She snuggled
her bottom against him and smiled a little when he groaned. “When we slept, it
was my first moment of complete peace. It was being here in your arms, loved
and wanted, that brought me peace.”

Lien whispered against her hair. Just her name. But it was
enough.

Inund teased them for missing the morning meal. And Ralen,
who along with Nilrem witnessed their vows, snapped that everyone needed to
lend a hand if the fortress was to be emptied before dark.

Lien admired everything about Ardra as she organized Ralen
right out of a job. But it was past sunset when they stood on the lakeshore and
stared up at the Fortress of Darkness. No torches gleamed from the towers. He
imagined he could smell the rotting attic room, though he knew it was just his
imagination.

He took Ardra’s hand. She was trembling, and he knew that
what she was about to do caused her pain. Among the many bundles she had
packed, she had placed a small square of paper with a few words from Deleh,
words that informed Ardra Deleh was running off with Venrali. They were heading
for warmer climes, the note said. Deleh didn’t want to be a burden, and Venrali
so reminded her of Tol.

Lien figured Venrali would resurface one day. “We should
find out what happened to the two sons your father had,” Lien said to distract
her. “If they were sold, we should try to buy them back and raise them.”

She smiled up at him. Desire flicked him like a sharp
whip—or a viper’s tail, he thought with an inner smile. How had he ever thought
her cold?

“You are constantly surprising me. Once, you would not have
wanted such responsibility.”

“I seem to keep finding it, though, don’t I?”

Nilrem met them in the empty courtyard with a burning torch.
“I believe it is an omen that I have counted eight piles of wood at the base of
this fortress.”

“Why an omen?” Lien asked.

Ardra answered. “When we met on Hart Fell, Lien, I was
practicing an ancient ritual. One of beginnings. It is a ritual of the old
ways, the old gods, but I was desperate for help from anywhere. It is a
practice for each new conjunction. But this one was said to bring special good
fortune with it as it was the first time in fifty conjunctions when the sun
would remain in the sky as the night orbs lined up.”

“It is an ancient augury of good,” Nilrem said.

Lien watched Ardra look up at the sky, now deep purple. The
scent of the orchard drifted in the light winds. It was a fresh scent. Not
rotting or evil.

“I had extinguished my fire as old women might have done in
ancient days, sifting dirt on the hearth to end the flames,” she said. “Just
when the perfect moment arrived, with all the orbs in the sky at once, I was to
have lighted eight candles and let them burn down to restart the fire. I never
finished.”

“The outcasts attacked you,” Lien said. He placed his hand
on her shoulder and squeezed.

“And you appeared.” She kissed his fingers.

“Complete the ritual.” Nilrem handed Ardra the flaming
torch.

Lien walked at her side as she moved around the base of the
fortress walls, stopping eight times to touch her flame to the wood.

Together they walked, hand in hand, back to the people
gathered on the lakeshore. The wind kicked up. It tossed her skirt in a sharp
snap against her legs and whipped errant strands of her braid against her
cheeks. But she didn’t look away from the burning building. She watched, her
face touched with gold in the setting Tolemac sun, her hand in his.

Gwen Marlowe unlocked the door of Virtual Heaven and wheeled
the baby stroller to the service counter. Baby Bob was fast asleep. A rare
happening on any day.

She liked to do the bills after church on Sundays. It was a
peaceful time. She could have the shop to herself until noon.

“How’s it going?” she asked the sleeping infant. “Do you
think Natalie and Daddy will save Mommy some pizza?”

Not really expecting an answer, just as she was not really
expecting Vad to save her any pizza—nursing and pepperoni did
not
go
together, in Vad’s opinion—she rolled the stroller with one hand and sorted
bills with the other.

A familiar noise penetrated her attention. “Now, how long
has that been on?” She walked through the shop to the game booth. When she
flipped on the lights, she remembered another time when the game had been on
unexpectedly. Her heart began to pound.

The game booth was empty. Then a glitter caught her eye.
Hanging from the railing that enclosed the control platform, and looped in the
annoying way Neil always looped his ties on her desk lamp, was a long silver
chain with a pendant dangling from the end.

She touched the pendant, not believing what she saw.

It was real. It was a silver disk, etched with a pattern she
knew was really a map through a labyrinth. But instead of the chunk of amber
she knew should be at its center, there was a glass rose—from one of the
earrings Neil had said his grandfather made at the Millville glassworks.

She unhooked the pendant and laughed. “God bless you both,”
she said and turned off the game.

Award winning author Ann Lawrence writes both historical and
paranormal romance with strong heroes and equally indomitable heroines. Her
books reflect her love of English history and Arthurian legend. But whichever
genre Ann chooses, she likes to include a puzzle for her readers to solve. Ann
loves hearing from her readers.

Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website
and email addresses on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
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Virtual Warrior

ISBN 9781419946479

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Virtual Warrior Copyright © 2002, 2013 Ann Lawrence

Cover design by Dar Albert

Cover photography by Alex Aldo, Tankist276/fotolia.com

Electronic book publication September 2013

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