Guardian of Honor Page 19

  The worst was that everywhere she visited she was a curiosity, the Exotique. She'd never been a wildly outgoing person, and now she struggled to keep a smile on her face and be civil—she had pat responses in fair Lladranan to common questions, but anything unusual meant halting speech. She felt stupid, and she felt like a freak.

  After ten days of touring, they reached an inn called The Singer's Hand, and Alexa desperately needed time alone. Time pretending to be a normal person. The past two nights she'd awakened in the middle of the night and nearly wept for home and faces she knew.

  That day Sinafin had been prodding her at every instant, impossible to bear. Alexa had managed to talk to the folks who approached her in the private room behind the taproom until everyone's questions were satisfied—all during the day and untilthe gray, rainy evening. With a little strategy, she eluded everyone, even Sinafin, dressed in some ordinary clothes and pulled on a royal-blue cloth cloak that the innkeepers kept for guests.

  She opened the back door and peered out at a small cobbled courtyard between the inn and the stables. The light was bad in the sputtering rain, and the sun had just set.

  To her right was a passage between outbuildings to a field of long grass and an old orchard. The air smelled fresh and the heavy drops were now just intermittent splats. She closed her eyes, lifted her face and took in the scent of Lladrana. Sweet rain fresh with hints of blossoming trees, a scent near to one she remembered from her childhood.

  A little walk would be just the thing to refresh her spirits. She wouldn't go far, just to the orchard. The inn stood on the edge of a midsize town, and Alexa had no intention of getting into any more complicated situations. She'd been in enough over the past weeks to fulfill anyone's craving for adventure...and it was just the beginning.

  So she drew the cowl of the cloak over her head until it nearly reached her eyes, and stepped from the building. She'd learned by experience that wet cobblestones could be very slippery. Picking her way, she headed down the path between the stable and the inn.

  She must have misjudged the path, because she ran into a thick cobweb. It clung to her, blinding her, covering her nose and mouth. It smelled of rotted bodies...death. The more she fought against it, the tighter it became.

  Panic struck.

  She broke the binding on her left hand and pulled it into the cloak, fumbled with the baton fastened on her left hip. Her feet slipped and she landed hard, the jolt of pain clearing her mind just enough. She freed the baton. Comfortable in her hand, it steadied her enough to mentally order Fire!

  Heat pulsed from her, constriction vanished. The smell dissipated. She lay in the wet courtyard for a minute, panting, trying to gather her thoughts. What had happened? She'd run into a spiderweb. They were stronger and stickier in Lladrana, she guessed.

  "Hello there, darlin'. Did you slip?" A man swathed in a rain cloak and with a broad-brimmed hat shadowing his face grasped her arm and lifted her easily to her feet. When she swayed, he steadied her against his body.

  She gulped air, her mind still dizzy. "Shal-shalutashuns," she gasped.

  He hugged her closer, chuckled. "I can see why you slipped. Tricky walking out here. Did you see some sort of green light?"

  She shook her head, trying to dispel the muzziness. It had just been a spider web.

  "Ah, well. Must have been an illusion."

  He settled her better against him. Her head rested on his chest.

  He was warm and strong and smelled really good. Like a spicy pastry. She could do with a good piece of pie.

  Or with a man.

  He wouldn't have to be good. Just good in bed.

  This was the first time since she'd stepped through the silver arch that she'd thought about having sex. It seemed a damn good idea.

  More, she realized that she hadn't been intimate—physically or emotionally—with anyone while in Lladrana. Well, maybe Sinafin picked up on Alexa's emotions now and again and had been a good friend. But it was difficult to identify with someone who was about three inches high in her dreams and a foot max in real life. She'd held Sinafin, but Sinafin had never held her.

  No one had held her with tenderness and affection since she'd been Summoned, and the press of events had kept her from that realization. She had put her physical needs in storage, just as she had as a child.

  But this man reminded her of all the wonderful activities men and women could do together—and being held ranked very high on that list, maybe even higher than sex. Kissing should definitely be a priority too.

  As she let him take more of her weight, he seemed to get the same idea.

  "Well now, do I have a willing woman?"

  The lilt and rich texture of his voice more than pleased her.

  For a moment caution lit her brain. She rubbed her eyes. The cobweb seemed to have affected her mind and her senses. It was taking a while to recover. So she stared at him without seeing much, noted the worn flying leathers of a Chevalier, and a couple of patches of rank. That was good enough testimony for her.

  He stood her in front of him, and tipped up her face, his still shadowed by the hat. "You look a little peaked, darlin'. You sure you know what you're doing?" He adjusted the cloak around her, smoothing it down, making no attempt to hide that he lingered on the curve of her breast and hip.

  She liked that simple honesty. Little sparks of interest signaling real attraction flickered inside her. With proper blowing, those sparks could ignite into hot flame.

  Absently, she dropped her baton into the cloak's deep inner pocket.

  "Ah know what ah'm doin'." She decided to be honest too. No thinking about every word before it passed her lips, trying to regulate her speech into proper Lladranan. She didn't care that she sounded drunk. He wasn't laughing at her.

  She looked up and his face was shadowed by the broad brim of a hideous hat made of something she didn't want to think about. In the twilight, she couldn't see his features, but his jaw was strong and his mouth soft. He didn't smile. No, he wasn't laughing at her.

  "Do you work here at the inn? I haven't seen you here before. 'Course, I haven't been here for a couple of months."

  "No, Ah'm travlin'," Alexa said.

  "Ah." Now he smiled. He sifted his fingers through her hair. "Very fine. Very silky. Almost unusually so. You arouse my...curiosity."

  That wasn't the only thing, and she knew it. She felt his erection. It built a low fire in her, feeling a man's passion for her. No man in Lladrana had touched her with desire, had expressed any interest in her sexually.

  She put her arms around his waist and leaned against him. A very big erection. For her, a very big turn on. "Mmm," she said, almost humming. The Lladranans and their preoccupation with sound had rubbed off on her. She wanted him to rub against her for a good long time. All night. And she was willing to rub against him too.

  "A willing woman," she purred.

  He enveloped her. He was larger than she and he brought his cloak around them both and bent his head over hers, moving his cheek against her hair. He sniffed as if inhaling her scent and enjoying it.

  His body was hard and strong and masculine, something she hadn't experienced for too long. His scent was slightly wild, musky, foresty, spinning her into a little erotic fantasy equally wild.

  "It's been a rough spring. A night of comfort and passion and grace would be very welcome for me," he said softly.

  His hands stroked down her back to her hips. When they came up to her shoulders, he massaged her tense muscles there.

  Comfort and passion and grace. What an odd combination of words to describe lovemaking, but the words and the way he said them melted something inside her. The simple sentence gave her images of rolling and laughing and being completely unselfconscious as they slaked their desire. There was a gentleness about this man too.

  "Works for me," she said.

  "I'm bunking in the stable loft. It's warm and dark and, most especially, private."

  "Oh yeah," she said in English. "Ayes,
ayes," she said in Lladranan.

  This time his hands went beyond the small of her back to slide over her bottom. He let his hands roam over her, then squeezed, lifted and angled her into his body, where his hard arousal met her sensitive flesh. She moved her own palms to his shoulders and found they were as tense as her own. His apparent nonchalance wasn't completely true. She dug in and he grunted. When she returned his massage, he let out a little groan.

  He could give. So could she.

  She could receive. She was sure he could accept that with grace too.

  His breath came more quickly near her ear. "You are so small." He set his fingers on her waist, felt her butt again, squeezed. "This will be a delightful madness." His voice had roughened, grown husky.

  "Ayes," Alexa said, for once very sure of her accent.

  He smiled, a flash of white, even teeth. His face shifted, and she snatched for a memory. Then his soft mouth came down on hers and her mind spun away and she let the sensation rule.

  His kiss was soft, testing, first pressing against her lips, then withdrawing. He swept his tongue across her mouth and she surrendered to him, to his tenderness, to his desire, to her own needs so suddenly unlocked.

  She opened her mouth wide and accepted his probing tongue, caught it and sucked it and drew the taste of him into her to savor.

  He groaned softly. "Let's take this inside. I want to feel you. More."

  She wanted to feel him too, over her, under her, in her. Covering her with his body, blocking all thought and all responsibilities and all considerations of tomorrow. Her hands shaped his shoulders, slid to the back of his nape to play with his hair. Then she speared her fingers into his thick mane. Textures. His hair was full of textures, some strands thinner and silkier than others.

  He stilled. "Do you still want me?"

  "What—?" What was he talking about? Of course she wanted him. She stroked his face. His mouth had set into a flat line.

  "Is your need so great that any man will do, even a black-and-white?"

  "Huh?" She framed his face with her hands; smooth skin with the slight roughness around the jaw of incipient beard. "Yu arhhh bee-yu-tee-ful."

  "I'm a black-and-white," he said.

  She sniffed in disdain, "Shtupid." She tugged his hair. "Feels great. More kisses... Ah haven't had kisses that sing to me for a long time."

  Now his mouth quirked. He set a muscular arm behind her body and lifted to bend her back, curving her lower body hard and intimately against him. She whimpered at the contact, the fierce anticipation that sizzled in her blood. Her back was bowed and he took her mouth, rougher now, parting her lips, thrusting with his tongue, letting her feel the edge of his teeth.

  Heat filled her. She grabbed his hair with both hands.

  He laughed into her mouth. Laughed! She was ablaze with desire and he was playing games.

  Her feet didn't touch the ground as he whirled her into his arms. Great move. He had a lot of great moves, with hands and tongue and body. She supposed she should be concerned, but nothing mattered except slaking this great need for sex, for intimacy.

  "I will assure you that all those old legends about black-and-whites are true." He chuckled and hurried sure-footedly across the cobblestones. "We are phenomenal lovers. Women just have to get past the fear of taking a lover with wild magic."

  She didn't doubt it.

  The stables were too dark to see a thing, and smelled of the sweet musk of volarans. Another different scent for her. He flung her into the air and she shrieked until she sensed the strong lift of magic that whisked her down onto a soft cushion. He was there in an instant. More magic. She spared a brief thought for how magic could change sex, then forgot everything as he came down on her.

  The sheer pleasure of his weight, of someone close, of a man close, made her gasp. She felt too good to protest.

  His legs spread hers until his arousal settled where she needed it most. Just the pressure of him drove her higher. She reached up, found his head and brought his mouth back down to hers.

  She needed. She needed him more in that moment than she needed anything else Lladrana had given her. His warmth. His simple desire for her as a woman. His honesty.

  Sliding her fingers through his hair as she sucked on his full lower lip, she reveled in the textures. Using the tips of her fingers, she traced his bone structure. Elegant. Yes, he was beautiful. She wished she could see the golden tone of his skin, the brown-black of his eyes.

  Then he rocked his hips and nothing mattered except the climb to bliss.

  His hands released the clasp of her cloak, undid the tie at the top of her dress, then slid under the breast-strip and covered her breasts.

  She shuddered in delight as he palmed her. Flesh touching flesh, finally. But it wasn't enough.

  Her fingers were fast and agile as she rid him of his cloak. She pushed at him and he rolled and she was on top of him and yanking his shirt from him and throwing it aside and sliding her hands all over his firm chest and—

  Feeling a lot of scars.

  A small cry of distress escaped her. His larger hands covered hers, brought them back to his chest, to his nipples. She rubbed. He bucked and groaned.

  But she touched his face again, the smoothness of it, even as her other hand traced old wounds.

  "I've been lucky," he said, his voice raspy. "But I believe we are both thinking too much. Time for action. Time only for feeling. I need to be in you or I'll die."

  He set her aside and, with an oath, stripped off his pants. She scrambled to find him. Touched the hard muscle of his arm.

  His fingers hooked in the neckline of her dress and ripped it from her. Then he lifted her and brought her down on him.

  They both whimpered in passion.

  Only mindless heat. Only the rough climb. Only hard thrusts.

  Just as she was at the edge, she saw two huge, beautiful crystals. The crystals resonated, drew close, touched.

  Exploded.

  Alexa climaxed. Behind her eyelids, little shards like rainbows drifted and sparkled.

  She went limp and fell on him. Above the pounding blood in her ears, the fast thud of his heart, she heard him give a long, low moan.

  They lay together in a damp tangle.

  "Merde," he said, more prayer than curse.

  For a moment her heart clutched. This was now the after. How would he treat the after? How would she? With grace? She hoped with all her heart that it would be so, and wanted to curse herself at the return of reason.

  He rolled a little and she lay loosely beside him. He tucked her close to his body, her head pillowed on a strong shoulder.

  "I'm Bastien Vauxveau."

  Shock zipped through her to her toes. He wasn't a nameless, uncomplicated lover. This could mean trouble.

  He laughed harshly. "You go stiff. I suppose you've heard of my esteemed father, the Lord Knight Marshall of Castle." He snorted.

  Obviously she had to say something, but she didn't know if her tongue still worked after such incredible sex. She sure wasn't thinking in Lladranan. Her mouth worked a couple of times before she could form the words. "Yes, and of your brother Luthan, and of you."

  Bastien shifted a little. "I hope I lived up to my reputation," he purred.

  Alexa cleared her throat. "I think you've lived down to it."

  With that, he sent a questing hand down her body, touching her nipples, sliding over her stomach to the delta between her legs.

  "I can go down."

  "Not neshesh—necessary," she croaked, completely aware by the tingling of every nerve in her body where his hand was, how easy it would be for him to sweep her up the road of passion again.

  "And who do I have the pleasure of pleasuring?" He continued to put a purr in his tones. What was with the men of this country, anyway, that they could wring emotions from her with just their voices?

  His left arm jiggled her a little, as if prompting.

  "Alexa," she mumbled against his arm, and tensed, wonde
ring if he would withdraw now.

  "Very nice." No purr. He sounded distracted. His fingers went lower on her body, between her thighs, and began to work ancient, natural magic.

  She reached out and found him, ready to go again. BastienVauxveau. Incredible sex. And that crystal thing. Wow. Fantastic. Over the top. How could it be more than one night? So she'd better make the most of it.

  This time it was faster, more intense, as if they'd both memorized exactly what the other liked best.

  And this time she was ready for the vision of the crystals, shining, meeting, joining, shattering. But this time melody was added. Naturally. It was her last thought before she cuddled closer to her fabulous lover and they subsided into sleep.

  She woke to his hands on her and a raging need. She pulled him upon her, needing to feel him. She might be alone and untouched by anyone the rest of the day, the week, but in her memory she could steep herself in the whole of him...and remember.

  The weak gray light of morning insinuated itself into the room through a small window. Narrowing her eyes, she could finally see him, his intense expression, his heavy-lidded eyes and sensual lips. No, she hadn't forgotten how he looked, and she suspected she'd measure every Lladranan man by Bastien Vauxveau.

  She grabbed his strong shoulders, ignoring scar ridges, and arched with precision, sheathing him. He closed his eyes and flung his head back, a droplet of sweat trickled down his throat. She wanted to taste all of him. She was too short. He was too strong. The need was swamped by others.

  God, how he'd learned to move within her to build her desire to the limit. She panted, clung to him, focused on the dance of their bodies together. Every time it was better—too much better. Too spectacular. It couldn't continue.

  But it did. He was relentless, focused on his body and hers, how they meshed, how he could move to increase their passion increment by increment. She hadn't ever been pleasured like this. Single-mindedly. Totally. Every sensual spot on her body singing with need. Surely she'd go mad. Die, maybe. Go mad, then die.

  His skin under her hands slicked. His breath came in ragged moans, yet he gave himself as little quarter in this struggle for the ultimate climax as he did her. Control was all. Sensation was all.