Warlord (10 page)

Well, she could dwell on that later. She pushed aside those thoughts and considered her current situation. Her eyes swept the large room. There was a low bed of furs, a table with two wooden benches and a stone bench on the far side. There were a few torches burning low around the perimeter of the walls. The ground was covered with hides. In the center of the tent rose the pole to which she was secured. It was summer and there was no fire. Something about the room felt oddly familiar. She scanned the enclosure for weapons and saw none. Still, she would be watchful and work on a plan for escape or if not escape, at least survival.

After a time, Sara fell asleep, letting the leather ties on her wrists take some of the weight from her body. She was startled awake by someone jerking on the collar around her throat. Half-choking, her eyes flew open and she looked into Arystan’s dark, penetrating stare. He was naked and looked as if he was ready to swallow her whole. Her knees weakened as she felt a pulse of desire wash over her. Fuck. This was bad. She was about to be raped by a ruthless, unfeeling stranger and she was getting hot for it? She’d better cool down and think rationally or she could forget about escape, possibly even forget about surviving.

CHAPTER 11 The Lion’s Den

Arystan saw the flash of heat in the eyes of the woman bound to the pole. He felt an unusual throb in his belly as his eyes met hers. It unnerved him and was most unwelcome. He shook the woman, his black eyes boring into her, his fingers still wrapped in the ring at her collar. She did not lower her gaze. The women always lowered their gaze. Her eyes were blue, a deep, brilliant cerulean color, exactly like the lake next to which he had grown up as a child.

His eyes hardened. “Do you know why you are here?”

She knew, but did not reply. He shook her again, more harshly this time.

“Yes,” Sara said, spluttering at the sensation of choking.

He dropped her collar, considering her. Now was the time when he fucked the slaves and whores brought into the camp without a second thought. He might take them up against the pole or he might cut them loose and fuck them on the skin floor, the women begging and pleading for him to stop as he plowed into them viciously, driving them across the yurt. He did not understand why he was hesitating with this woman. It was not for lack of ability. He grimaced. No, the equipment was in working order. More than working order, it felt as if his cock was going to burst into the woman of its own accord.

Sara watched Arystan. She was unsure about his hesitation as much as he was. But that didn’t make it any easier to breathe when he was near her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, washing over her like waves of flame, turning the warm night restlessly hot, sultry even, as her body began to flush and perspire, her hair beginning to form soft ringlets around her face. Arystan’s eyes were like black pools of liquid fire that seemed to pour over and want to engulf her. And his cock. When she had regained her wits after almost being choked, she had seen the monstrosity, long, impossibly thick, dark, beautifully shaped. She wasn’t sure he would even fit, but gods she wanted him to try. Her mouth parted slightly as she stared at him, helpless to break his gaze.

Arystan clenched his fists at his sides, looking down at Sara, feeling again that strange tingling sensation accompanying the familiar throb of his cock. Curse this woman. He could fuck her, would fuck her, and it would be no different from any experience he had ever had. He stepped closer to her, noticing the heat flare in her eyes and that she seemed to strain a little at her bonds and push her body toward him imperceptibly.

Why wasn’t she afraid? Growling, he reached up and grabbed her hands, encasing them in his, even though she was already restrained and he ground himself into her harshly, his hard muscled chest pressing against her soft, willing flesh. He heard her gasp, felt her sharp intake of breath. His cock, uncomfortably hard, was pressed into her belly and he felt her wind her hips against him. Shit.

So she wanted him? So what? That didn’t mean he had to want her back. He was simply going to take her, without thought, without emotion. She was beautiful though, with that pale, creamy skin, lust clearly in her eyes, her pelvis making small thrusting motions against him. He pushed his body harder against her to make her stop and trailed his hands down her arms, sticky with perspiration, to her shoulders, lingering as his eyes washed over her throat. Then he reached behind her neck, thrust his hands in her damp mass of hair and lowered his head to hers as if in a trance.

Sara tilted her head back to receive him, her eyes glazed, panting slightly, as their lips met in a blinding flash of fire, jolts of electricity crackling through their bodies, mutual spasms of desire coursing through their connected flesh. Unable to stop himself, Arystan kneaded Sara’s hair with his hands, causing her to cry out, raping her mouth with his tongue and teeth as she drank his ardor down.

Arystan suddenly jerked away, furious with his own reaction. His eyes blazed at her.

“Who are you?” he demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her fiercely.

“What are you? A sukkuba? An evil spirit, come in the form of woman to seduce me so that you can then kill me?”

Arystan released her and strode quickly to the stone bench, unsheathing his short sword from his belt which lay on a small pile of skins. Sara’s eyes flicked to the clump of garments. He must have removed those before he woke her. He walked back to her, holding the sword before him as he approached. Her eyes widened.

“So, there is fear in your eyes now, woman,” he said quietly. “As there rightly should be.”

He brought the blade point to her throat and pressed it there, indenting it against her neck, but not breaking the skin. Sara tried to move back from him, but her head fell against the pole. She looked at him, clearly afraid, but the lust had not left her eyes. He could see it.

Damn her.

Cursing, he brought the sword up hard and slashed at the thong connecting her wrists to the chain of rings on the pole. It was a narrow strap. Arystan had a very good aim. Then he grabbed Sara’s wrists with one hand and cut the bindings, stepping back and letting the rope fragments fall to the ground. There. If she was some type of devil, she was now free to attack him. At least he would be on more familiar footing and could defend himself as a man, rather than be a slave to some magic-inspired lust.

Sara rubbed at her wrists, trying to bring the circulation back into them. She made no move toward Arystan although he waited, his sword lowered, still on point. Finally, he sheathed it and tossed it aside, angry with himself. She was just a woman, in all probability simply trying to pretend that she enjoyed him, like the women had before he entered the war, clamoring to please him, offering themselves to him because he was a warrior of prowess, a warlord on his way up in the ranks.

Well, there was one way to test that theory. In his experience, there were some things that couldn’t be faked.

He walked back to Sara slowly, noting the immediate dilation of her pupils. He locked his black eyes onto her blue ones. They blazed back at him with heat, heat Sara was trying desperately to control. Experimentally, Arystan lowered his lips to her neck, nipping gently at it. It was true, he was usually a savage and brutal lover, but he could be passionate, even tender, as he had been at times before the war took hold. He saw that Sara’s breath quickened and her eyes fluttered for a moment, but she made no sound.

Hmmm.

His eyes flicked to her pale breasts, bound and wrapped in leather, the pink-brown areolas dark in the torchlight, her nipples hard and erect. He frowned. Could she fake that? He brought his hand up and held it above her cheek as if he meant to strike her.

Instead of cowering in anticipation of the blow, she leaned in to his touch. He swallowed, bringing it down slowly to her lips where she kissed it, staring up at him, before he drew his calloused hand over her jaw line, down her throat, coming to rest at the swell of her breasts.

Sara’s eyes were half-lidded with pleasure. He had released her from her bindings so to stand here helplessly before him, she realized, was ridiculous. She should be furtively searching for a way through the flap, calculating how to disarm this man, Arystan, and take his sword. Why then did her body keep responding to him? He obviously had a part in keeping her captive for a week, under the influence of some sort of drug, and then had ordered her tied to the pole in the middle of a tent so he could ravish her. And now she wanted him, wanted his touch, wanted to revel again in the feeling of his hand raking down her flesh, leaving a trail of sparks behind. More than anything, she wanted him to possess her, to taste his mouth again, to feel his beautiful dark-bronze cock inside of her.

She shuddered powerfully. She must still be under the influence of a drug. But then again, this man seemed to be almost as surprised at his reactions as she was at hers. It was almost as if he was caught off-guard, off-balance. She sensed he was the type of man who was never caught off-guard.

Arystan watched her shudder, watched the pleasure she obviously took from his touch and found himself reacting powerfully to her responses. His cock suddenly throbbed, almost aching as even more blood rushed to it, filling it to capacity. Fighting the urge to grab her, throw her to the bed, and pound into her beautiful body unmercifully, he instead reached under her naked breast and gripped it firmly. Sara gasped. Her nipple stood out even more, blood-engorged from the tightness of the bindings and his grasp. He bent down and took the nipple in his mouth, running his teeth over it, his black eyes looking up at her to watch her reaction as his hand moved to her other nipple and roughly caressed it.

Sara made a strangling sound in her throat and grabbed for his arms with her hands to steady herself, arching as he rolled her nipple with his tongue, taking more of her breast in his mouth and then moving to the other and repeating himself. This could be no act, Arystan thought. He felt her hands on his forearms. They felt warm, wet, good. How would they feel on his cock? How would she feel on his cock? He throbbed again and then reached for her buttocks and pulled her to him fiercely, her slick belly coming to rest against his hard abdomen.

Sara felt as if she had connected with a geyser, as if boiling water had met fire and steam was rising from their bodies, steam that made the tent sticky and moist, like a living, breathing jungle and this was the god of that jungle pressed to her body. She wantonly ground against his body, hearing him hiss as he threw back his head. Not thinking, controlled now only by desire, she stood on tiptoe and reached up and kissed his chin, the only part she could reach with his head tilted backward.

His head immediately snapped back, his black eyes hard as steel and she wondered whether she had made a grave mistake in trying to kiss him. Arystan was thinking the same thing. He didn’t kiss women. He fucked them, he used them, he sometimes abused them, but he didn’t kiss them. He had hardly kissed women even before he became a warrior and left for life on the battlefield. It formed attachments and complicated matters, things he was loathe to avoid. But he had already kissed her once and, great spirits, why did he feel compelled to do it again when the foreign woman before him meant nothing to him, absolutely nothing.

She shifted against him and he painfully realized their bodies were still touching, the mutual heat sending streams of perspiration over their flesh, lubricating their skin. No, he shouldn’t, definitely he shouldn’t, but . . . .

He bent down and hovered his lips above hers, willing himself to stop, and then losing that battle, as he had never lost a battle in his life, he took her. He was not gentle, scouring her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep within her, sucking hard on her lips and then crushing them, barely allowing her to kiss him back although he could feel her attempts. And then his hands were on her also, roaming over her back, her breasts, her thighs, feeling her slickness, her warmth, her willingness.

“Your name,” he breathed harshly, his voice sounding raw, his hands still moving over her. Sara grabbed at him, trying to pull him back into the kiss. He grabbed her hair and shook her. She looked at him, her eyes unfocused. “Your name,” he said again, tightly.

“What is your name?”

“Sara,” she whispered back.

“Sareta,” he repeated and then fell to her lips again. He reached under her skirt and touched her core, still ravishing her mouth and felt his entire hand come away drenched in wetness as the woman cried out against him, her breath hot and sweet. She was ready, more than ready. And so was he.

“My lord –” came a low voice from the entrance to the yurt.

Arystan spun to face the tent flap, livid, his breathing ragged. “Why – why do you disturb me?” he said, his black eyes dangerous, trying to bring his body under control.

Sabalak stood in the entrance, his eyes raking over Sara unpleasantly, even as he spoke deferentially to Arystan. “I am sorry to disturb you, my lord. We called from outside, but you did not . . . answer.”

“What is it?” Arystan hissed.

“We captured a messenger, my lord. In torturing him, we learned that an advance horse regiment from Bayuan’s forces rides tonight. They will pass by the river on their way over the pass to join his main encampment. If we ride to the gap quickly, we may be able to ambush them in the narrow valley.” Sabalak lowered his eyes, waiting for Arystan’s response.

The leader’s body was tense, his eyes like iron. “How many horse, Sabalak?”

“Five hundred, my lord. Elite cavalry.”

“How long?”

“By my calculations, the horses will arrive at the pass in two hours.”

“Organize five hundred men, Sabalak. That should be more than enough considering it will be an ambush. They will not see it coming. We leave in one-quarter of an hour. I will join you then. I expect the men to be ready. Leave me. Now.”