Karok had pulled back his men and reconfigured. This foreign place was his new home but it was unconquered, filled with opportunity and challenges. One province after another, he would take control of this strange country. Revolutions took time, took gold, took blood. He raided the very people he would crush. His catacomb stockade now filled with the gold and jewels needed to raise the stakes, he could soon put his plan in motion.
A hearty chuckle ended on a moan and his hips thrust up. His general would have made it to Lacornia now and would soon return with more of his loyal followers, those hiding in exile, waiting for his triumphant resurgence. It took a mastermind to orchestrate the deathblow he planned for Eldwyn. Karok relished the challenge.
“Harder,” he demanded, yanking the rope around his pet’s neck. She increased her suction and his head fell back.
The Great One favored him. This ancient stone church, buried in the mountain caves, bore pagan symbols he’d crushed and obliterated. The ornately carved rock harkened back to a time these imbeciles forgot, a time of blood worship and sacrifice, the way gods should be worshipped. Karok’s favorite deity now graced the walls, the entrance ways. Her benevolent gaze looked down approvingly.
Yes, Twylea had blessed him, brought him freedom, riches and a new land to conquer. She’d blessed him with a child. His hand dropped to his pet’s rounding belly, feeling the hard stretch of her stomach as his son nestled inside her. It would be a son, this he felt sure. If not, if this one was another girl, he’d kill both it and its mother, as he had the two previous pets and their weak female offspring.
His blood pounded and he shoved her head down farther as spasms ripped through him. Twylea, the Great One, smiled down on him, her wide wings spread in glory.
Bryton’s skull split wide and tiny men with pickaxes were chiseling away at his brain. He groaned and rolled his head. His tongue felt wrapped in heavy leather and his stomach twisted into a rope. Cheap-ass whiskey. Had he really drunk the whole bottle? Damn, he’d forgotten how miserable a hangover was until he tried to move…as in blink.
A harsh hand scrubbed across his crusted eyes and scratched at his bristled chin. He must have stumbled in from the entry ledge but had no memory of it. The last thing he could recall was that song. He cracked his eye, wincing in anticipation of blinding pain. His bedding sat deep enough in the cave that no morning glare assaulted him. In fact, the chamber was dim, none of the lanterns lit and the fire ring held nothing but smoldering embers.
He lay on his pallet, covered with the new blanket. Leaf was curled into the crook of his neck and he peeled the furry body away. The kitten blinked at him then stretched on the coverlet near his knee. His boots rested to his left, right side up. He never did that while on the trail. He always either kept them on or turned them upside down to prevent spiders—or worse—from crawling inside.
His sword! Panic ripped through him and he reached for it. It wasn’t at his side. Not since the age of fifteen had he slept without a blade within easy grasp and he bolted upright. Dizziness dropped his ass back to the ticking. Leaf meowed her displeasure.
Movement drew his eye toward the entrance. Salome stood just outside the cavern, the first fire-tinged rays of dawn slipping over the mountain peak. She lifted her face to a teasing breeze. Loose curls flicked in the air, dancing to a tune of morning birds. A smile closed her eyes. A daybreak palette of peach, copper and pink streaked across a violet sky and a rim of gold burst over the ridge top. A spark hit her gown and it erupted into a glistening shimmer of dawn. His breath caught.
Salome at sunrise was a near-holy experience. She was serenity and elegance wrapped in creamy skin and living sunshine. The light played over her in prisms of gold, tinting her hair to polished bronze. She inhaled the dew-crisp air, tiny nostrils flaring. His heart thudded with an increasing power. Candles held not one half her beauty or her light. All the murky dregs in his mind slipped away as he drank in her splendor.
She turned her face toward him, her eyes flickering with the flames of first light. The curve of her lips widened in joy and his chest squeezed. She smiled for him.
“Good morning, my charge.”
“’Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Did you…have you been here all night?”
“I flew for a while but returned. I worried for you.”
He looked back toward his pallet. No pillow and his pack sat along the cave wall. The answer to his unspoken question was in the subtle sweet scent of his blanket. She’d held him, for at least part of the drunken night.
“I’m fine except for this bitch of a headache but that’s my own fault.” He thrust off the pallet and gingerly stood. The stone floor swayed but his knees held. He banged his boots on the stone, grateful nothing fast skittered out, and stepped into them. His bladder demanded attention and his face felt gritty. He snagged his pack and slowly approached her. “I’m going to go clean up. Be right back.”
Salome shook her head and bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing at his movement. He walked as if every step jarred his head. She smoothed the second blanket over his pallet, rekindled the fire and lit the lanterns, waiting for his return. There were questions she had, answers she could possibly give him, but she needed his eyes, his training.
He entered a short while later, water darkening his hair and jaw freshly shaven. The pale fawn tunic shaded his eyes to the hue of bluebonnets. The rich fragrance of the bean brew he liked soon filled each corner of the cavern. Bryton nibbled a piece of plain bread, each motion of his jaw bringing a wince. He squinted at the parchment she handed him.
“Unless I cannot see them, as you cannot see the cat’s eye, there are no bird wards.”
Bryton didn’t even glance at the paper before lowering it. “He has a bird, a big one on his chest. It’s on another parchment.”
Salome brought the leather folder and settled beside him. The soft rasp of paper unfolding made him moan. An eagle demigoddess depicted in broad strokes of charcoal stuttered her breath. Under her ribs, her temporary heart fluttered. “I can see this, my charge. It is not a ward.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a talisman. Look, see how the bird looks east? It signifies rebirth. The talons, they are clutching a rope, for security. The feathers are pointed like daggers, for guardianship. See the eyes? They are filled with fire for power. This is a calling charm, asking for blessing from a goddess that does not exist.”
“I’m not going to argue religion with you, but what does this mean?”
“You may not be able to harm Karok but he calls a bird to him, welcomes it, worships it.”
The cup pressed to his lips lowered in slow ticks. “No way in icy hell are you going anywhere near him, Salome, so just stop that thought right now.”
“You are making an error. You have a means to accomplish your go—”
“You really don’t get
no,
do you?” Black liquid sloshed over the rim of his cup as it slammed to the stone floor. “No, as in negative, as in over my dead body. You can’t even throw a dagger and you want to face a murdering prick?”
“Teach me.”
Bryton groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “No. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. You’re a peacemaker, damn it. It’s not easy to take a life. Do you really think you can kill someone, Salome?”
Her lips parted but no sound came. She could not lie to him, could not lie to herself. No, she didn’t think she could take a human life. The thought cramped her belly. Her mouth closed and she shook her head, shoulders slumped. Over his dead body, he’d said. Isn’t that what she feared? That she would stand over his dying form and watch his life essence slip away? A pain lashed through her. Could a heart break if it wasn’t human?
One large warm hand encased hers with a gentle squeeze. Ocean-deep eyes narrowed with his gentle smile. “Thank you for trying to help but this isn’t your battle. It’s mine.”
“I want to aid you.”
“Just stay away from the Skullmen, that would aid me. I won’t risk you, too.” Bryton finished his bread and drained the metal cup before rising. He gathered his bow and tucked a bit of bread and cheese in his pouch. “I’m going to scout, get a feel of the land. The man I questioned said the campground trail began between two boulders forming an arch so I need to look for that. And the men who’ve been killed around here while searching all died from arrows from higher up. To me that says a lookout perch in the cliffs. I’ll hunt on the way back before dark. What will you do today?”
Salome shrugged, picking up the cup, rolling it between her palms. She had the strangest urge to press her lips to the rim, where his had been, taste him along with the drink. Her gaze lifted to his mouth and the drum in her chest struck a low reverberating note.
She’d held him most of the night, threading her fingers through his hair, over his cheekbones, down his neck. The whiskey had let him sleep deeply and she’d relished in the freedom. His head pillowed on her lap, his breath warming her thigh, she’d sung the healing melodies of peace, hopeful they reached his slumbering soul. At one point in the night, he’d moved, wrapped his hand around her thigh and rubbed his cheek on her leg. Her song had faltered as tingles and crackles soared through her flesh.
“There are berries in abundance. I may pick some today if you would like them.”
Bryton nodded. “Be careful, though. There are more dangers than just nature in the forest.”
Lying with him in the night strengthened her bravery and she stepped close, stroking her hand down his cheek. She did not miss the twitch under his jaw or his slight stiffening. His eyes dilated and never left her face. Daring grew, swelling like a wave on the shore, washing over her with crashing power. Salome rose to her toes and kissed him, her arms twining around his neck. Last night’s hunger erupted in a volcanic rush.
For one breath, he didn’t move, then his arm circled her waist, hauling her higher, closer to his mouth. Like a shiver at midnight, his tongue slipped between her lips, the rich taste of his drink flooding her. She drowned in his kisses and guzzled the hot, slick liquid of lust. Callused hands stroked down her back, over her hips, and tugged her closer. Softness molded to hard strength with a frictioned warmth that pushed back the cool cavern air. Breath ragging and harsh, Bryton nipped her lower lip and she nipped back. A soft growl vibrated his chest and she nipped again. The growl grew hungrier with each taste.
The fire did not sputter but an ember whooshed to flame deep inside Salome and her blood kindled with heated need. Thick copper hair smoother than silk feathered through her fingers. Her grip tightened, pulling his mouth away before she went mad with longing. His lips dropped to trace a blistering path down her neck to her collar, then back again to the spot behind her ear that weakened her bones.
Shaky knees threatened to buckle but his arms held her close, his heart beating next to hers in a matching staccato. Fisting the tunic at his shoulder, she mimicked his mouth’s caress and tasted the salt of his jaw, trailing to lick at his Adam’s apple. Warm skin smoothed under her fingers as her hand drifted from his neck down to his chest and lower.
Bryton thrust her away with a muttered cry. Salome nearly stumbled, nails scraping into the rock to catch herself. His abrupt departure left her panting and unfulfilled. His shoulders shook with great, gulping breaths as he leaned one arm against the entrance arch and buried his head in the crook.
“Bryton?” Her kiss-swollen mouth and flushed skin felt cold and lonely and a scream brewed inside her. A quick whisked tongue along her lip brought his taste back and desire surged.
“I can’t.” His voice muffled by his arm could not hide the frayed longing. It ripped into her essence and she gasped in pain. A shudder gripped him as if in the dead of winter. He turned. Pleading agony darkened his eyes and lined his mouth. “I’m sorry, Salome.”
And then he was gone.
She put down some fresh water and a bit of the leftover broth and bread for Leaf. The kitten greeted her with a hearty purr and dove into her meal, wet laps loud in the silent chamber. The cavern held more chill than her empty heart could stand and she slipped into the warm morning sun. It kissed her skin but did not touch the icy sting in her chest. She’d never been so bold with him and there was little doubt he had wanted her. But still, an unfilled longing pulsed in her blood. The chirping birds called to her and she went to check the eggs. The mother sparrow politely stepped aside so she could smile on the tiny green-speckled ovals.
The renewal of life soothed her ache and she relished her human limbs. She stretched her arms skyward and let the breeze skate along her body. Nature was glorious in its bounty. She ducked back to the stone chamber to retrieve a cloth pouch and set off to gather her berries. She delighted in the firm earth beneath her feet, the rich soil, springing soft mosses and green grass. Wildflowers peeked through clumps of tender weeds and bees droned in a low song. Chipmunks darted, trees swayed and spiders spun silken homes of intricate lace.
A low bush yielded strawberries and a rabbit. Salome twitched her nose and the bunny twitched back before diving under the growth. Some raspberries had reddened and she added those to her pouch. A bright blood-red berry grew on a dark fern-like bush and she palmed several of the plump clusters. When her sack was stained with juice, she returned to the cave and separated the colors into piles on the oiled cloth. Leaf chased a sunbeam, tiny body quivering in play then pouncing. She looked around in confusion when her paws captured nothing and Salome laughed.
Salome spied the empty water sack and refilled it at the gurgling spring, washing her red-hued fingers. What else could she do to make him comfortable? The bees came to mind and she went in search of a container. With an empty tin gripped lightly, she hummed along with the honeybees. Bees coated her arms, tickling her cheeks with tiny feet and wings and wound through her hair. She’d borrowed a small cutting blade from his pouch and sliced until the waxy comb spilled golden liquid.