“In some clans, a couple’s first mating is witnessed by all,” the Warlord says.
“Mating?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Sounds too much like animals, not people.”
“Weareanimals,” he breathes, climbing over me. My breath stutters in my lungs as his scent envelops my senses—the smoky rich maleness of him. I can practically taste the lust on his tongue as he dips it across mine.
Then he rolls onto his back, flipping me on top of him again. But he doesn’t stop there; he spans my waist with both hands and lifts me bodily. Before I can protest he has me seated astride hisface.My knees press into the pillow on either side of his head, and my hands instinctively grip the frame of the bed. I can feel the brush of his short beard against my inner thighs and more sensitive places—I’m practically dripping into his mouth.
I squeal in protest and try to move, but he holds me still, just a little space between his lips and my core.
And then his tongue sweeps through my quivering center. He keeps me there, held in place, my thighs trembling, while he tugs and nips at my tender folds with his teeth, while he lashes his hot wet tongue over me again and again. After a minute or two I manage to relax a little, to enjoy the delicious attention on that sore, stretched part of me. The flushes of pleasure are growing closer together and more intense—I’m burning again, hot and wanting.
“Can you breathe?” I manage, between the surges of sensation.
“Shut up, mouse.”
So the answer is yes. I clutch the frame of the bed harder and yield to his ministrations. One of his hands cups my rear, and now and then those fingers move, stroking my skin. His other hand braces my thigh, supporting me.
His tongue is a thick swirl, and then a delicate, tender lapping. There’s a nip of his teeth, a nibble in the right spot—and a dot of exquisite pleasure centers there, quivering. “Please,” I sob. “Please.” His teeth pinch me again, and his tongue flickers, and his lips press a suckling kiss and—gods—faen—faen—I’m shattering, shaking, gasping shrill and undone. His bearded mouth presses upward, soothing me, gentling me.
I’m boneless then, completely lax as he arranges my loose limbs on the bed. He kneels between my spread thigh, his muscled torso filling my sight.
“Faen, treasure,” he says, his cheeks red, his golden hair shining in the lamp-glow. “You are so beautiful.” With his knees planted apart, he strokes himself, soaking in the sight of me. Flushed and sleepy, I smile at him, tracing my fingertips along my body. He comes within seconds, sprinkling my skin.
We drift into sleep then, our limbs interlaced. A few hours later we’re wakened by the drunken return of some merry-makers, but the noise quiets quickly as they fall into their own beds in the other rooms.
The lamp has burned low. In the near dark, Cronan attacks my mouth with silent urgency, and I crush my body to his, just as violently needy. My fingers find his length, pushing it into me, and even though I’m still faintly sore, I don’t care. I need him like I need breath in my lungs, like I need sun on my skin. I love him better than my own comfort. I crave, I hunger, I am absolutely feral for him. The sensation of his thick length filling me up is more addictive than I ever dreamed. My body draws him in, locks him inside, pulses around him until every drop of his pleasure is spent and he’s left weak and sated.
When I’m done with him, I crawl onto his chest and touch his face while he lies panting and limp. I stroke the light beard, and the bold cheekbones, and the beautiful straight nose. I smooth the broad lips and trace the arches of his brows. My fingers travel to the nape of his neck, touching the braid that holds the bones of the people he loved and lost. I can never replace them. Nor can I promise to never leave him bereft in that way.
But I can promise to love him and be with him for as long as my body and spirit remain together.
“I love you,” I tell him, stroking my fingers over his heart. “And I would like nothing more than to bond with you.”
His torso heaves, a rush of relief. “Gods, mouse,” he whispers, pulling me up along his chest until my face is near enough for him to kiss. “You are my undoing and my healing. I think I would give up anything for you.”
“You won’t have to.” I kiss him softly again. “Because we don’t just share a soul-bond, or the same ‘craven lust.’” He rolls his eyes, and I chuckle before sobering again. “We share a common goal. Maybe justice isn’t possible, not really, not at this point—but joy is possible. Peace is possible. We’re going to show everyone it can be done.”
He hums deeply in agreement, stroking my hair.
“Oh, and one more thing,” I say. “Enough of this shit about me being too weak to bear children. If I want your little war-babies someday, you’ll give them to me. Understand?”
“Faen,treasure,” he murmurs, with a delighted grin. “You know I will give you anything.”
76
The next day, Cronan and I are life-bound by a Shaman of the Bloodsalt, under a hastily-constructed archway of naked tree branches woven with fluttering ribbons. Our union is supervised by the Hoenfel priestess, at my mother’s insistence. All the representatives of the clans and the district villages stand witness as we speak the vows, as the healer weaves white threads around our hands and sets them ablaze with golden light. I feel the power of the life-bond racing along my left middle finger up to my heart, into my blood—and it feels more right and more healing than anything else in my life.
At the feast following the ceremony, feeling invincible, I indulge boldly in a slice of rich cake. Of course my mental state cannot correct the flaws of my body, and I regret it for hours afterward. But when it’s over, Cronan is there, and he doesn’t complain about any smells or the fact that I’m in no mood for joining with him. He simply brings me a cup of water and holds me as we lie in his bed.
Word of our life-bond will spread far and wide, and my father has plans for the Warlord and me to travel from village to village through our district for a while, as he and my mother announce the terms of the treaty to everyone. Cronan and I are a symbol; we can help our people visualize the future.
My mother promises we’ll travel slowly, so as not to risk my health, but travel doesn’t hold the same terrors for me now. I’ve learned to manage in the worst of scenarios—I can handle a journey through our district. And afterward Cronan and I will live in Hoenfel, in the same cottage where we made love for the first time. Cronan has plans to fix it up and decorate it in the style of his lodge. His father and the others from the northern settlement will join us eventually, moving into Hoenfel and Three Bridges and other border towns.
While Cronan and I travel with my parents to persuade the southern villages, my sister Joss will ride with Zeha from camp to camp beyond the Altagoni mountains, speaking with the warlords. Joss is perfect for the mission; her strength and skills are better suited to the North than mine. She understands the mentality of a warrior better than I can, and with Zeha the diplomatist at her side, I have no doubt she will win the respect of many a clan. The two of them seem very content with the arrangement, and I suspect some of their nights will be spent as blissfully as mine and Cronan’s are.
Despite all our efforts, integrating the clans into our district will take decades, or longer. There will be misunderstandings, prejudices, ill will, and disputes. Our two people groups will need every talent we possess. They’ll need Zeha’s clever diplomacy and the Warlord’s pure zeal, my parents’ lifelong political experience and Joss’s brash confidence. They’ll need Olsa’s sense of honor, my brothers’ eager openness to new ideas, and the healer’s grouchy kindness.
And they’ll need me—the girl who gets up every morning without knowing what her body might do, or how close she might come to the edge of death. They’ll need the girl who survived the North and saved her captor from death. The one who felt his pain and learned to listen.
As for me, I need only one person—the one who greets me with a kiss as I wake each morning. The one who possesses me and sets me free, respects me and commands me. The one who stole my body and my heart. My husband, my life-mate, my enemy and my friend.
My Warlord.
