Cara wouldn’t attack a priestess, would she?
“Apologies, mistress.” Nani bows her head and takes a step back. “I meant no ill will. Just suggesting that she be given the opportunity to learn from our most educated scholars.”
A bold-faced lie if I ever heard one, but it seems to placate Cara for now. Her fangs recede, and she stops bristling. “Perhaps in the future you would be better served to mind your tongue, Nani. Your words are cutting.”
The older woman bows again and scurries off, though I don’t miss the scathing glance she shoots my way.
A single mare waits for us outside the temple when we leave. I look around for another, but there seems to be only one. I turn to Cara, confused.
“Where is the other one?”
She fusses with the saddle, checking the straps. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, will one of us have to walk after all?”
Cara chuckles. “Nonsense! There’s plenty of room on the saddle for us both. Why should either of us have to walk?”
Both …?
“Come on. After you’re up, I’ll get on behind you. We’ll ride like that.”
Cara helps me up onto the mare’s back. I’m not quite sure what I expected, but it surely wasn’t for her to swing her leg over the mare’s back behind me and scoot close, wrapping an arm around my waist. Her breasts press into me, and I can feel heat radiating from between her legs.
“Ready?”
I’m not, but I nod. She nudges the mare’s sides with her heels, and we’re off.
I am woefully unprepared for the sensations that follow. Cara’s chest bounces with the mare’s movements, and her thighs rub against mine. The mare’s easy stride makes for a comfortable rhythm—smooth and even—but for some reason I can’t relax. All I can think about is her body pressing into mine, those long legs rubbing me, her arm on my waist. I find myself breaking into a sweat despite the fact that I’m just riding. My stomach tightens, and my heart rate picks up. I don’t understand why I’m so nervous.
“Are you okay? You’re quite tense.” Cara’s breath tickles my ear, which only serves to quicken my pulse. “Your heart is pounding, too. Is something wrong?”
No, nothing wrong … quite the opposite!
For most of my life, I’ve associated physical touch with pain. If the nuns ever bothered to touch me, it was to punish me for some slight or other. But this? This feels amazing. I lean into Cara’s soft chest and sigh. “I’m okay. I think perhaps the stress of the past few days is getting to me.” That must be it. Why else would I be feeling this way?
My cheeks ignite when she kisses my neck and rubs my stomach. What is going on?
“You’ll be able to relax once we get to the palace. I’ll make sure you’re treated properly, and if anyone gives you trouble, I’ll set them straight.” Her cheek presses into mine, and she tightens her grip on me in a quick hug.
She says more, something about palace life and what to expect, but I lose track of her words. All I seem to be able to focus on is her touch, her hand on my waist drifting down to my thigh, the feel of her skin against mine. Her thumb traces slow circles on my leg as we ride. My breath catches in my throat, and I find myself wishing the mare would stop. Not because I don’t want to be riding with Cara anymore, but because I don’t much care if we reach our destination.
I don’t want this to end.
“Tell me, Sable,” she whispers, her lips brushing my earlobe, “were you studying to become a member of the clergy?”
I don’t quite get what she’s asking. “No. While I enjoy the study of religion, I don’t think I’d cut it as a nun or priestess. It must be a lonely life, locked up inside a temple or convent with little to no outside contact. Can you imagine? Never truly connecting with another … It sounds horrible.”
The hand on my leg slides up, away from my knee, and I freeze. “Is that what you want? To connect with another?” Her voice is low, husky, and something about it starts a tingle between my legs.
“I—”
“Cara! What in Hells are you doing?”
My head whips up so fast I end up smacking Cara in the face. I hadn’t heard them approach, but before us sit eight riders, wolves all, armed to the teeth. The foremost rider is Corvin, the male from the temple who was so suspicious of me. He seems no less agitated after returning to the palace, his face red from beard to crown.
“I’m bringing our guest back to the palace.” She straightens in the saddle and removes her arm, and the void left by her touch sends a chill running through me. “What’s up with the entourage? Is something amiss?”
He growls, and his horse dances in place as though it senses his irritation. “What’s amiss is my bride should have returned to the palace days ago. Why have you been delayed?”
