Salome at Sunrise (17 page)

Water sluiced over hardened muscles as he moved to cooler waters. The depth must have lessened because he walked and each slowed stride brought the inlet’s cloak lower and lower on his chest. The dark dagger mark glistened and tiny droplets traced down his sternum, trickling into the concave valley of his navel. Each rounded hip bone flanked a furrow of muscles, narrowing, angling downward.

Salome turned her head and nibbled her lip. A splash reclaimed her gaze. He stood beneath the pouring waters. The waterfall rained down with a torrential shower. It cascaded over broad shoulders, down the dipped groove of his spine, caressed over tight buttocks, licked across corded thighs. A heavy ache formed between her legs, and wetness gathered. The venison, berries and grains with honey still filled her belly but a hunger whipped thorough her.

He raised his arms, stretching, and the bones of his shoulder blades pointed then flexed like burgeoning wings. Her tongue grew thick with desire and she slicked it across too-dry lips. She’d felt the strength in him, in his firmed arms and back, the tightly bound ridges of his stomach, but always through clothing. The thin layers of wool or hemp had masked far more than his captain’s marks. They hid his beauty. Bryton seemed carved from stone, each detail captured at the peak of masculine prowess.

Gooseflesh erupted on her arms as the need to feel him, touch him, taste him raged inside her. The storm between them echoed with internal grumbles of denied thunder. Salome spun on her sandaled heel and fled, ripping through the brush as if she were hunted. She was hunted, by her own need for what he would not give. Her mind raced faster than her feet. Peace, she needed her peace, to find the solitude of gentle nature and uncomplicated existence.

Her birds. The tiny new lives that needed nothing but scraps of food and a mother’s care. She needed her birds. Fronds and leaves slapped at her as she ran, pushing the shades of green away, her feet digging into the dirt. The cliffside came into view and she sprinted toward the pine, toward the small nest. It lay shattered and scattered at the base.

Frantic and shaking, she dropped to her knees, clawing at the bits of straw and grass. Jagged shells bit into her hands, crushed into a thousand pieces as she searched for the hours-old hatchlings. Little brown feathers and moist pink blood stuttered her heart. Gone. Her baby birds were gone, the mother either some mammal’s dinner or chased off by another larger bird.

Nature had no cruelty, just a fight for survival, and predators sought only to live, but her essence shrieked in torment. The hatchlings scarcely had time to live, had never opened their eyes to the brilliance of day, never felt the wind on their wings. Injustice and loss boiled in her soul and she let loose a scream of pure misery.

Bryton pulled the wool breeches over damp skin and reached for his shirt when a fierce wind smacked at him, stinging his eyes with sand and dirt. The scorched scent of burnt honey accompanied an eerie gale that stabbed at him. Panic bled through him, a venomous poison that buzzed in his veins.
Salome.
He left everything behind but grabbed his sword and dagger, jamming his boots on as he ran. Her name tore from his throat as he barreled toward the cliffside.

Terror burrowed into his soul, forcing power and speed into his legs. A twig snapped and lashed his cheek but he didn’t pause to wipe the sting away. His battle cry blended with her name.
Not again, I can’t lose her, too, not again
.

Dusk cast shadows on the mountain from the dying rays of the sun. In the purple-smudged gloom a tight cyclone swirled around Salome, and crystal tears streaked her cheeks. Seeing her alive eased the pain in his chest, but the turmoil on her face kept the adrenaline pumping in his blood. The winds raged around her with snapping strength. Bryton didn’t think, he reacted, rushing headlong into the whirlwind, to Salome.

Pebbles and debris pelted him, the fierce winds pushing against him. He ducked his head, squinting to keep her in his sights, and drove forward. Salome never took her gaze from the pine. Inside the funnel’s center the air was calmer, a gentle whisper surrounding her that twanged with agony. He dropped his weapons, reaching for her. The instant his hands touched her arm, the wind stopped.

“Salome, what’s wrong?”

“They’re gone,” she whispered, a haunted void in her tone.

“Who?”

“The birds, the babies, they’re gone.”

The torn nest and shell remains brought his frown. He drew her close, wrapping his arms around her, unable to feel anything but relief that she still breathed. “I’m sorry, sweetling. It was probably a crow or maybe a blue jay. Things like that happen.”

“I know, but they were…I saw them hatch, watched them in the first seconds of life. They had no chance. It’s not fair.”

She clung, sobs racking her shoulders, tears pooling hotly against his chest. Her arms trembled and her knees shook. Murmuring soft words that meant nothing, he simply held her and let her sorrow wash through her, giving the only comfort he could, his strength. The sun slipped behind the earth and the first twinkling stars appeared. Her hair wrapped around his forearm, tickling with little curls. He feathered soft kisses along her brow, rocking her as he might Jana while she wept.

The tears dried and she drew slow, strengthening breaths. The moist heat blew across his chest and his thoughts slipped to things other than gallantry. Her breasts pressed tight against him, her waist curving under his hands, the softness of her cheek on his bare skin. He pulled away before his growing firmness could hint to his distraction. She laced her fingers with his as if unwilling or unable to be alone. Understanding let him stroke her flushed cheek. This was the first loss she had ever tasted and he knew well the soured flavor.

He bent to gather his weapons then tugged her up the rough steps. Golden flickers bathed her as he stoked the fire, the increasing light showing shadowed eyes and hollowed, stained cheeks. Leaf stood on hind legs against her calf, biting at the ties of her sandals. Salome removed her shoes, dangling the laces for the kitten to bat, then she scooped Leaf up with a small sob. She cuddled her until the animal squirmed in protest. Salome released her and she jumped down, chasing an acorn across the floor, into the shadowed corners of the room. Salome’s longing gaze followed the fluffy kitten’s play.

She startled when he swiped a dampened cloth over her face, then took it from him and pressed it to her eyes.

“I’ve seen you angry but I’ve never seen you cry.”

A sad shade passed over her eyes, darkening the gray to soot. The wry lift to her lips fascinated him. “Today I have wept twice. I hope to never weep again.”

“Twice? When was the first?”

Shock quickly shifted to anger and then to fear as she described her discovery of the Skullman hideout. An itch like biting ants crawled through his muscles. She’d allowed Karok to touch her, assuming the role of his demigoddess then venting her anger. Tremors of frenzied alarm gripped him. She could have been seized. An arrow could have ended her life or a dagger sliced her throat. Karok could have wrung her neck and tossed her broken body aside.

His fingertips bit into her upper arms, the urge to shake her battling the urge to crush her to him. He could not swallow his dread.
She’s a spell, can mist to wind and heal, Karok would never be able to hurt her.
His logical mind battled his rampant emotions. He’d known she was hurting, had felt the jagged edge of her pain, tasted it in the wind. What if the threat had been real and he was too far away? What if she was injured and he couldn’t find her? What if she left him?

Clarity swept through him with stunning realization. It forced him to his feet, back against the cool rock wall. Yes, Salome was sent to bring him peace but instead had become more. She had brought him comfort and joy, reawakening his laughter. She was more than his friend, more than a voice that soothed him, more than a beautiful woman who tempted him. She’d burrowed under his resolve, beneath his shields, below his guard. She’d wedged into his heart. Acknowledgment left him stunned. He loved her.

Salome sipped the plain cup of water he’d pressed into her hand then raised her gaze to his. Dove-gray eyes became a beacon, drawing his awareness like a lightning strike of power and heat. Lust arced with a blue-white sizzle. The cup lowered to the floor and she stood, never dropping her eyes from his. He drank in the splendor of her grace. The dulcimer notes of her voice stretched toward him, caressing him with a vibrating need.

“This day has shown me happiness and anger, contentment and rage, wonder and death. So many things, all new and vibrant, but there was one constant, one steady thread that tied them all together.”

“What?”

“You are my constant, Bryton. Through every feeling, every experience, every thought, you were there, in my heart and in my soul. You are my charge and I came to bring you peace but you, you spin my mind and my emotions like a hurricane.”

A dry lump formed under his jaw and he swallowed it down with force. No words would spring from his tongue.

Her gown borrowed light from the fire. She stepped toward him, each motion like liquid flame licking across her curves. His body pulsed in awareness, desire surging to want. One slender hand rose to stroke his jaw. Her touch scalded to his senses. Sweet honey carried a darker fragrance, one tinged with the sultry spices of need.

“I watched you bathe,” she whispered.

His eyes widened and a warmth formed on his cheeks. Her fingertips slid to his neck, fingers delving along the cords and valleys. A trail of heat sizzled beneath her path. Part of him yelled, fighting the deliciously intoxicating lure of her touch. Another part reveled in it and wanted to gorge on the brewing lust. He couldn’t move, frozen, held by conflicted desires.

Her hand left his skin, and loss swamped him. Her braided belt fell to the stone. The muted
thwap
of leather striking stone closed his eyes. He was too weak for this temptation. The deep breath he desperately sucked in wound her deeper into his soul until she permeated every inch of his skin. His eyelids sheltered his fear but his body raged and he needed to see her, to drown in her tranquil beauty.

Bravery and valor were nothing compared to the determination it took to open his eyes. Drunk with longing, his gaze locked on her hand as she reached for her shoulder and the clasp of her chiton. Sunrise silk rippled as it fell from her body, pooling at her feet in a splash of daybreak on the dark stone floor. Carnal hunger roared and his blood surged.

Drenched in firelight, her bare skin glowed in shades of apricot, peach and amber. Yearning thickened his tongue and he slicked it across his lips as his eyes lowered. Gilded cream slipped to soft breasts tipped in dusky rose. A jerking started in his spine but slammed into his gut when she took his hand and brought it to one soft swell. Her name crossed his lips but no sound came, just a low sound of pleasure torn from his weakening resolve.

His thumb brushed a slow arc against her breast and the nipple drew tighter. He dropped his head back, banging it on the stone, and a strangled plea rasped from his dry mouth. “Salome, please…”

She brought his other hand up, molded them both to her breasts. Beneath her skin, her heartbeat pummeled with an echo to his. “Can you feel it, Bryton, the force that grows between us? It rolls like thunder, scorches like lightning, churns with the power of storm clouds. Can you sense it?” Her hands moved his, down her rib cage to her waist, to her hips, lower. “The winds caress us, the air sizzles on our skin, the rains make us wet.” Her fingers drew his down to slick hot flesh and a groan peeled from his throat.

Unable to breathe, his vision grew hazy. Nothing existed but her, all sunbeam cream and twilight eyes. His blood boiled and his body betrayed him, reaching for her. Soft curves in molten heat touched him, pressed against his chest, pushed along his hardness, curled around his neck.

Bryton surrendered to the tempest of temptation. A white flag waved in his befuddled mind and he took her mouth, gentleness a memory. Her kiss seared into his brain, into his soul, like a branding iron. For him, there was no escape. She had marked him with some invisible claim and he belonged to her. It was the sweetest defeat he’d ever tasted.

A fever spread through him, the burning fervor to possess, to claim, to make her his. His mouth never parted from hers, but he bent, slid his arm beneath her knees and lifted her. Three steps and he lowered her to his pallet, covering her body with his. One delicate foot curled around his calf, her leg creeping higher, opening to cradle him in the sweet contours of her intimate embrace. Salome twined her arms about his shoulders and drew him closer. Salty tears lingered on her lips, and he licked each one away, longing to erase the torment from her soul.

The tight confines of his breeches twisted him with a painful bite but he relished the pain, clung to it. He toed off his boots, the heavy-soled leather hitting the stone with deafening thuds. Still, he did not reach for his waistband. Bryton clenched his teeth, biting back the urge to rip his clothing away and plunge inside her. If he stripped now, he’d give in to the driving urge coursing through him.

The temptation to move too fast, to say things he dared not think of, promise things he had no right to promise, hovered just out of reach. To silence the urge, he took her mouth, found hers waiting. A fizz coated his skin, heightened by the glide of her leg along his, the skim of her mouth against his. He had to slow his need, control his thirst, rein in his hunger. She was too innocent, deserved softness and care, not lusty fury.

Somewhere deep under his sternum, his pulse thundered with such a furious tempo he feared it would explode. Her hands touched his chest and he froze. As if she knew, her palms cradled above his heart and it slowed, responding to her touch.

Without raising his face from the curve of her neck, he murmured, “Be sure, Salome. This cannot be undone.”

“I am sure. Love me.”

I do,
his heart whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

Bryton stilled. He wouldn’t. He would do everything in his power to ease her, to please her, to make her ready for him. Drawing on strength he never knew existed, he tamped down his hunger. His surrender was also his victory, would be her pleasure. This gift of innocence would not be hurried, would not be rushed. Unseen hands had crafted her specifically for him. She was magic beyond her powers, beyond her song. She’d breathed new life into him with a kiss.

He stroked a gentle finger across her cheek, twining that stubborn lock of hair around his knuckle. “I won’t, I promise.”

Petal-pink lips widened with her smile and she leaned up, kissing him with infinite softness. Her fingers sank in his wet hair and her mouth slid along his jaw. Hard nipples grazed his chest and his eyes closed, pleading for mercy. The feel of skin on skin crackled with a lightning strike, echoing the burning flashes raging in him. Salome’s breasts filled his palms perfectly. Nipples beaded by lust and kissed by the chilled air stiffened more. He stroked with a single finger, fascinated by the tightening flesh. His thumb joined his finger and rolled the tip. Heaving gasps lifted her chest and a whimper sounded above the pounding of his blood.

Why did he find the curve of her breast so alluring? Her skin pinked beneath his nips and licks, beckoned to him. He sucked one tip deep, delighting in the rasp against his tongue. She bowed higher, her nails biting into his shoulders. He took the crest between his lips, swathing his tongue along the tip, and she moaned. He nibbled and his name hissed with pleading.

Inside him, between them, within the stone walls of this sheltered cavern, the storm let loose. White-hot light flashed, and rumbled thunder shook his soul, but all Bryton heard was his name on her tongue. Her fingers threaded through his hair, down his neck, smoothing along his spine as she arched to his mouth. The gentle swell of her abdomen, the dip of her navel and the lush contours of her hip trembled as he worshipped each precious inch.

“Turn over.”

One arched brow quirked in question and the slender lines of her throat bobbed with a swallow but she did as he asked. Pine rasped against cedar as she rolled to lie on her belly, hands folded under her cheek. Long golden-brown strands covered her back and she made no move to rearrange them. The scent of wild honey burst into the air as he fisted a length of hair. For one brief second, he simply let the silken locks trail through his fingers, basking in the feel, the scent, the freedom to touch her. Then he pushed the hair away from her back.

The slender slope of her neck called to his mouth. The velvet of her flesh under his lips intoxicated him with one sip. He had no plan but let his mouth go where it wanted, sliding along her spine, slipping over her ribs. From the curve of her shoulder, along her spine, the crest of her bottom, he learned the secret taste of her skin. Every lick, kiss and nibble marked her as his. He claimed her for himself, the feel of her on his tongue an unbreakable bond. He allowed no part of his body to touch her but his mouth. The act was so simple, so pure, and so private it became a pledge not unlike a marriage vow.

A shiver racked her when his hands curved down her back, across her buttocks, along her thighs to her fragile ankles. Beginning at her heels, he forged a trail up her leg, swirling his tongue with slow, teasing abandon. The rounded mound of her bottom quivered beneath his kiss. She mewed and groaned into the pallet as he nuzzled the small of her back, her shoulder blades, and traced her spine back to the nape of her neck.

“Bryton.” His name was a sigh and he smiled against her skin. Every muscle and tendon in her body was loose and languid. He wanted her relaxed, comfortable with his touch, his intimate kiss. Easing his full length down to her back, he accustomed her to his weight, the sensation of his body pressed tight to hers. Rounded and soft, the cleft of her buttocks cradled his rigidness and she purred. He rocked and her purr turned to a moan. Her hips rose to meet his and the ache in his balls scourged though him. Too tempting. His teeth snapped down with an audible click.

The heady scent of passion clung thick in the air, burrowing into his subconscious, marking him. His skin vibrated with need. He pulled back, smoothing his hands along her ribs, fingers tracing the swells of her breast, down her sides. He gripped her hips firmly, rolling her to her back with deliberate strength. She needed to feel at ease with more than gentle touches.

Her contented smile greeted his gaze. Wide shining eyes the color of mist simmered with sunlit flame and Bryton stoked the blaze between them. They didn’t need the campfire’s warmth. The heat came from inside, the friction of her against him, him against her.

A light sheen of perspiration coated his skin and Bryton struggled for control. Trailing a hand up her thigh, he eased her knees apart, settling between them. The coarse blanket scratched his belly but he barely felt it. Wet heat pooled between her thighs and the pulse in his breeches thrummed harder. He traced a line of kisses and licks between her breasts, down her rib cage, across her stomach. The dip of her navel beneath his mouth gave way to the firm arc of her hip bone, the soft valley leading downward.

Salome moaned and opened herself wider. His fingertips grazed moist, glistening skin and her hips thrust up. So responsive, she trusted him in every way. It was a gift he cherished and vowed to never let her regret. He didn’t want to devour her, to frantically push her to the peak. He wanted to coax her, draw her closer to the edge with gentleness and care. He wanted to gorge on every experience, every discovery, learn each nuance of her response. Slick with her liquid silk, his fingers skimmed her hardened bud, teasing her.

The hollow where her leg met her center called to him and he sucked with a nibble. In his hair, her fingers twisted and yanked. He pressed his cheek to her thigh, the velvet contrasting vividly with the roughness of his jaw. The rich feminine bouquet tempted him and he had no desire to fight it. One slow breath blown across her center made her gasp. A leisurely glide of his tongue along her outer folds brought a whimper. Passion-soft flesh slid along his tongue, and his lips nipped until she quivered.

Pure melted woman flowed when he suckled her deep, drawing as much of her into his mouth as he could. Her heels dug into the pallet and she whispered his name, begged him, pleaded for something she never voiced. Buried in succulence, a tiny knot hardened between his lips. A panting moan rippled above him and he looked up.

Beyond the slight swell of her stomach, her breasts heaved, the bottom curves lush from his attentions. Tight dusky nipples still shimmering from his kisses crested high. Her knuckles went white as they fisted above her head. Her mouth fell open, full lips parted wide with her panting.

Bryton cupped his hands under her ass, lifted her closer to his mouth and used his thumbs to open her. The flavor enthralled him, spiced honey with a hint of salt. He used his teeth, not sharply, not enough to push her over, just enough to pinch the pulsating nub to a heightened intensity. One finger slid deep inside her.

Tight cords in her neck shone white as she jammed her head back. Her hair snaked along the pine as she thrashed on his pallet. A fine sprinkling of gooseflesh formed on her stomach. Fluttering his tongue made her sob and shudder. He added a second finger, gently stretching, diving deeply and stroking softly.

His tongue became a dagger parrying the nub hidden in swollen silk. Instinctively arching, she drove herself closer to his probing. He let her juices flow across his lips and lapped each dewy drop, purring against her flesh. He draped her twitching legs about his shoulders. The tiny knot grew hard and he lavished his attention there.

She chanted his name in a low murmur. Power rushed him. Dominance screeched through his veins like a diving hawk. She was completely in his control. She belonged to him. He belonged to her.

“Bryton!” His name, drawn long and high-pitched, echoed off the cavern walls. Every line in her frame snapped taut then shuddered with quaking force. The sound reached inside him, gripped his heart and squeezed. Fading to harsh gulping breaths, her cry lingered in his ears, a drumbeat in his blood that throbbed with need. He didn’t slow his mouth until the last tremor passed.

Passion-sweat gleamed on her skin, the dewy kiss of release. Giving her time to recover, he trailed a moist line of gentle kisses up her belly and across her collar. Shaky arms wound around his shoulders. A purely masculine satisfaction curved his mouth. He kissed her nose, smoothing the errant curl from her damp cheek.

“That’s how humans fly, Salome.”

Salome smiled, a breathless chirp of laughter brushing his chin. “What a wonderful and glorious flight.” Trembling fingers traced his cheek, glided over his mouth and dropped to his chest. Her fingers slipped lower. “Fly with me.”

The mere suggestion clenched his stomach and jerked his balls. He’d done all he could to ease her and now he needed to claim her. He shoved away long enough to strip off his breeches. She opened her arms and he went readily into them. Want roared in his veins and he fought it, striving for patience, kissing her until her mouth grew more intense, hungrier. Hungry fingers kneaded his back. She was ready.

Bryton spread her legs with his thigh. He hooked one hand under her knee, bending it, and her leg slid around his hips. He guided himself to nudge the heated folds and closed his eyes. A hasty prayer echoed in his mind then all thought ceased. Swallowing the acid taste of dread, he sank inside her.

Her body tightened almost excruciatingly around him and she gasped, the sound wrenching his soul. Cursing himself as four times a bastard, he moaned at the grip of molten satin. His pleasure at her pain scratched another black mark into his honor. Exquisite torture battered through him and he stayed still, feeling her stretch around him. Sweat trickled down his spine as he gritted his teeth.

“Salome, please…tell me when I can move…when the pain’s gone.”

She brushed her lips along his dagger mark. The actual scar felt nothing but the flesh around it quivered with hot pleasure. Her whisper danced across his skin. “There was never pain. This, between us, this is magic. This is love.”

Softness ached in his chest and though he could not say it, he nodded, taking her lips with his. Vibrant sensations, lightning bolts of pulsating hunger, coursed along his bones, settled in his marrow. He rocked and Salome hooked her feet behind his hips, arching when he delved deep and retreating as he pulled back. Scents of pine and cedar blended with lust and wafted thickly in the cavern. Her nails raked his back and clutched at his waist.

Water, her kisses were water to his parched soul, and he drank with a ravished thirst. Only the taste of her could quench his longing. The storm’s cadence never ran dry.

She matched his pace and intensity until, at the end of his fragile grip on control, he drove deep with a thunderous roar. His lip curled over tightly clenched teeth, his grunted growl resonating in the small room. Salome vaulted and trembled violently, crying his name. He thrust. She sheathed. He rocked. She arched. He pounded. She cradled. And then they flew.

A half circle of light surrounded the carving. Torches snapped and crackled in the deepest night, costly wax candles shimmering beneath them. Karok knelt in frenzied prayer before his goddess, his lips spilling unceasing prayers. Impassioned sweat trickled into his eyes, but he dared not stop to wipe it away. Twylea had come, in all her menacing glory. She was angry and she had right.

Karok swayed with the rhythm of her song, his thighs aching with cramps, his feet long gone numb. The veil between the worlds grew thinner by the minute and he would not risk missing his chance to appease his benefactor. Twylea was the goddess of victory and war, bloodshed and vengeance. She’d honored him with her presence and, in his foolish arrogance, he’d touched her. His spine shuddered at the memory of her feel, the power vibrating from her stare, the brush of her wings, the strength in her call.

A whimper before him did not interrupt his prayer. The sacrifice waited, gagged and bound with the toughest leather. He’d chosen the youngest of his bounty. Though she had been well used, she still had all the ethereal beauty that had drawn Chakor to her. He liked them young and tender. Twylea would be appeased with his gift. She would come to him again, praise his devotion, reward his loyalty.