ChoiceofMasters Page 9

  Dear God, he was right. He was her Master.

  “Thomas.” She said his name.

  She lifted her head so they were eye to eye, and his lips brushed hers, his tongue tracing moisture on her dry lips. Her legs had accommodated his entry, wrapping around his hips, her heels brushing the tops of his muscular thighs, and now she thought she felt her heart beat in time with the throbbing organ impaling her.

  “You are sweet, dear lady, so sweet,” he said hoarsely. “It is like coming home to the Earth herself and finding rest and passion at once. I want to hear you scream my name.”

  He pressed his hand against her back, pushing her deeper onto him, and the reaction shot straight up into her chest.

  He did it again, rocking his hips so she heard the wet, sucking noise of her eager sex gripping him as it had never gripped a man before. Its urgency came from its desire to be pleasured, and an equal desire to stay joined forever, as if her life and all its functions depended on it.

  “Lilith,” he murmured, and thrust again, the muscles of his powerful shoulders rippling beneath her fingers. “Lilith,” he said, his voice becoming deeper, more primitive. And thrust again.

  Surely there had to be magic in this place, for she was certain his movements were causing the walls of her cunt to erupt into flame. Lilith struggled, not sure why she was struggling. Each shove of his hips pressing her thighs wider and penetrating her was pushing her out of hell, into the sweet air of the world again. His grip on her was ruthless, holding her hips still, not allowing her any movement. She simply had to bear the rub of his broad shaft within and without her as he withdrew, pumped forward, withdrew, each stroke a slow building fire across the tinder of her quivering flesh.

  “I like the way you breathe, my lady, when I am fucking you so hard and well,” he grunted. “You gasp each time my lance stretches you wide and buries inside you. I will hear that scream, Lilith.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her moan into his shoulder. His hands shifted, gripping both cheeks of her buttocks and opening her. He showed no signs of tiring, a man who carried pounds of armor into battle. She drank in his smell, felt the heat of his skin on her lips, and the need he roused in her turned savage. If he would be her Master, he could earn it, for she would be no meek servant, but a match for his strength.

  She latched her teeth onto his shoulder with a growl, her passion bringing flashes of light and color to the inside of her lids, and now his blood on her tongue, mingling with her own saliva. She dug her nails into him, feeling the tough skin give way before her claws, and still he showed no sign of flagging.

  “Fight me all you want, lady,” he said, “I will not be denied your scream.”

  “My lord, let me—”

  “No, Lilith,” his voice was a groan against her throat. “You may draw blood from me, but you will take all of me within yourself. Feel my cock, and know it has the right to your cunt, as much as you have the right to my blood. I will not let you go.”

  The double meaning was not lost on her, but the white world was swirling into color around them, mist driven back by fire that would surely consume them. Color would take them back to reality, and she was afraid.

  Her nipples rasped against the rough hair of his chest each time he brought her body against his with a powerful smack of flesh, the friction unable to be contained. He made her body shake with the force of his assault, the long, torturous slide of his lance all the way out, and back in again. Her muscles clenched him, tried to keep him deep within her, but he would drive her insane with this slow build to a climax that eliminated all her resistance to the truth of who he was to her, no matter what plane they were on.

  She could hold her grip on him no longer. She reared back, her fingers slipping away, but his strength held her up. His head plunged down, his hot mouth capturing her nipple and half of her breast, licking, chewing, suckling her.

  Lilith shrieked, convulsing at the strike of sensation that shot from that aroused nipple to her wetness. Her reaction gushed from her, too violent to be satisfied with a slippery impression of dampness, the usual discreet evidence of the volcanic spiritual and physical eruption of a woman in climax.

  His name was on her lips, there waiting to be spoken again, to call him to her, bind him to her, as much as it bound her to him. It felt like her chest was tearing in two. Her heart screamed what it knew, her fear battling it to silence. Then she turned and saw his eyes, no more than a breath from hers, and there was nothing left to fear or fight.

  Say it, Lilith. His voice was just a whisper in her heart, when she expected a shout.

  “Master,” she said. Then she screamed it, an urgent sound of pain and release at once, a wound torn open. The infection poured out, exposing all her hopes, impurities and fears in one moment, in that one word.

  He held her, his lance pounding into her like a siege ram. Knocking down every defense, resounding within the echoing walls of her spirit, filling it with a promise, a possession. She felt him explode, a hot stream that made her cry out anew, her voice blending with his in their mutual surrender to one another, and his ragged breath chanting her name against her ear.

  The white and colors came together, merging into darkness, until there was just a tinge of rose, like the light of the sun behind closed eyelids.

  * * * * *

  It was light behind closed eyelids. Firelight. Lilith slowly opened her eyes.

  She was on the bed. Thomas held her in one strong arm while he gently cleaned her with a washcloth with his other hand. She watched him for a few moments, cozening her as he would a child. His copper hair fell softly over his forehead and bare shoulders, and his amber eyes glowed with the colors of firelight. As her ability to use her faculties returned and her nerve endings untangled enough to feel his touch upon her, it hit her like a warm slap of the sun that she was feeling his touch in languorous enjoyment.

  Languorous, sated enjoyment. Her body trembled under his touch, but it was an emotional response, not a physical one. She had been satisfied. She, just as any woman after coitus, lay quiet under her lover’s touch, wanting to touch him for the sake of intimacy, the remembrance of passion, and in anticipation of it, not the immediate demand for it.

  She wanted to touch him. Her hand jerked up awkwardly, because she expected the bindings, and there were none. She hesitated, her hand in mid-air, afraid to move it further.

  “It is gone,” she whispered.

  “I know.” His fingers parted the lips of her cunt as he rubbed the cloth against her. She made a soft noise.

  “I thought it was,…only there, that you and I…”

  “The ritual of awakening took our minds there. Inside this sacred circle, our bodies obeyed what our spirits did elsewhere, so strong was its pull.”

  She got the courage to move her hand then. She raised unsteady fingers to his face, and he turned his attention to her. Beautiful eyes he had, and her fingers pressed on his lips, feeling their texture.

  “You are angry with me, my lord?”

  His brows drew together. “No, my lady. Why would you think it so?”

  “You are so…quiet,” she ventured. “I thought, perhaps, I displeased you in some way.”

  Thomas smiled, easing her heart, and he kissed her fingers. Done with his cleaning, he kept the warmth of the cloth over her tender opening, the heel of his hand pressed firmly there between her open legs, as if reminding her of his claim to her as much as soothing the tenderness his entry had caused, reassuring her further. She noticed he wore his hose and nothing else, so she could see the hair on his chest, the gleaming line of his shoulders. She noticed the elegant lines of the muscles in his legs, the bulge of his genitals straining the snug fit of the cloth. She noticed because she, Lilith, wanted to notice these things.

  “I once thought,” she managed, “that I would convince my father to marry me to a malleable older man of wealth. I thought I would run his household and my life in my own way, and he would not trouble me overmuch,
just be happy to have a young wife while I spent his money on the things I desired.”

  “I am not a wealthy man, lady,” Thomas said, “but I am not a poor one. I will give you a fine home to run, but I am afraid no one has ever called me malleable. I will have my way, though I cannot think of much I would deny you.” He slid his fingers within her, just a slight amount, and she found a shiver of desire could rouse itself even in a sated body. “But I shall make sure you will not be uncompensated for my stubborn spirit.”

  He sobered. He took his hand from her and slid his arms beneath her, lifting her up in his arms in a smooth movement. He took them to the chair by the fire and sat down, with her cradled in his lap. “We must face Zorac, Lilith. Very soon, he will send his guards for us, if they are not already on their way.”

  Lilith swallowed. “My lord, what if—” she began to struggle away, to get to her feet, but he held her. “No, my lady. We will face him together.”

  “But what if he can undo,…I cannot bear to go back to being under the spell. If I do, you must do as I begged you. If you love me truly, you will release me, even if it means my death—”

  “Hush,” he whispered fiercely, grasping her hair in his hands and tugging it, hard. “Lilith, look at me. Look at me, now.”

  When she did, he gentled his touch. “You made a choice, lady, and I am here. We stand together.”

  He rose, lowering her to her feet, and went to his saddlebags. She could only watch his handsome, powerful torso in mute panic as he bent and withdrew a package from the bag. He unwrapped and shook out a gown of fine deep blue fabric, edged with a silver lace at the sleeve points, hem and modest neckline. There was a silk cotte of a sky blue color to go beneath it.

  “For you, my lady. While you are beautiful in anything,” he swept his glance over her, clothed in nothing but her hair and the firelight, “I will not have you displayed immodestly to others any longer.”

  Her fingers closed over the fabric, her panic settling into something much deeper and more painful as he gently pulled it from her touch, lifted it over her head. He threaded her arms through, helped slide the cotte down her body, adjusted it over her hips, his hand lingering on her waist. Then he helped her drape the silver edged gown over it.

  She swallowed. “It is the first time, in a very long time, that I have not felt,…so naked.” She lowered her head, and the sorrow on her face was hidden by the firelight and shadows. “You are too good to me, my lord.”

  “I could never be too good to you, my lady.” From the same bag he withdrew a comb of polished wood, with carvings of leaves and flowers along the spine. He picked up a brush from the chair by the fire and began to brush out her long hair, freeing it from snarls with his fingers so he did not tug on her scalp. Apparently, grooming his stallion’s long tail had made him adept at rendering his lady’s equally long mane into warm silk that poured over his fingers.

  “You would put a lady’s maid to shame, sir,” she said quietly, watching him in the mirror with eyes full of thoughts.

  “You will never have a lady’s maid with me,” he said. “I will help dress you and fix your hair each morning, for you are my pleasure to care for.”

  “I find you just as pleasing to me, my lord,” she offered shyly.

  “It is good to hear, my lady.”

  They said nothing else. He finished her hair and drew it up from her face, fitting the comb against the crown of her head to hold it in place. He turned her to face him. Thomas’s brow drew down as he looked at her. “What is it, Lilith?” he asked.

  “I am not worthy of your love, my lord,” she said.

  Thomas’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

  “Why are you not worthy, lady? Is there a crime you have not paid for here? Do you believe you have not suffered enough to deserve your freedom from Zorac?”

  A rueful smile touched her soft lips, lips she felt were swollen from his kisses. “I notice you do not offer me freedom from yourself, my lord.”

  Thomas did not smile. “In that, I am a selfish man, my lady, and you shall just have to get used to it. You must answer me, my lady, when I ask you a question.”

  “How much punishment is enough to pay for the taking of an innocent life?” she asked, her face full of pain.

  A mailed fist struck the door, and she jumped beneath his hands before he could answer.

  “My lord!” Cullen’s voice was harsh. “Lord Zorac requires your presence, and that of the Lady Lilith, in the Great Hall. Immediately.”

  Chapter Five

  Zorac was alone in the Hall. He bade Cullen and his guardsmen leave as soon as they brought Thomas and Lilith to him.

  Thomas had donned his sword belt and dagger over his tunic. Cullen had not stopped him, had looked grimly amused. Thomas understood the message. Zorac had little to fear from weapons of steel.

  The wizard sat now in his chair, watching them approach. His eyes were on Lilith. Thomas had made her place her hand on his, and so he escorted her as a knight would a lady, the gesture emphasizing that the spell was gone, and giving her cold fingers the warmth and reassurance of his own.

  “So, my lord,” Zorac’s voice echoed in the empty hall. “You did it.”

  “No,” Thomas shook his head. “Lady Lilith did it, my lord. She had the strength to win her own freedom. You know the tenets of this spell and you know it is so.”

  “Or perhaps Helene tricked me, and there was more to this spell. You think I am stupid, if you think I would believe that either of you has the power to overcome my magic. Seeing as you acted dishonorably, I am free to kill you both. Your victory is short-lived.”

  Lilith’s eyes closed, her grip on Thomas’s hand tightening. He felt her fear. It made Thomas furious.

  “No,” he stepped forward. “It is you who deceives, Zorac. You lie to yourself. Once, a long time ago, I saw a man go onto a battlefield, a man who represented all I believed was good and noble, who had all those qualities of the man I wished to be.” His voice was hoarse with emotion, and he felt Lilith’s hand on his arm. For the first time, he took comfort from his lady’s touch. “When I next saw him, he was dead. I touched his body, pressed his blood to my lips, the last act of honor I could offer him then. I could have turned to hatred, but what would have happened if the disciples of Christ had done the same, my lord? What if they had chosen to turn their hands and minds to hate and destruction? You think you protect innocence, but are you not hoarding it here?”

  He had the wizard’s attention now, and perhaps his fury, but Thomas pressed on.

  “My lady made a cruel choice as a child, and she has paid for her crime. The hardship you imposed on her brought forth this woman, a much different person from that selfish young girl. As in all quests that are part of God’s purpose, she has changed and become far better than she was.”

  “Her face is the same,” the wizard scoffed, surging to his feet. “The same treacherous face that compelled my brother to his death.”

  “Is it my face that so offends you, my lord?” Lilith said, taking Thomas by surprise with the raw anger in her voice. “Is it that which cannot allow you to forgive me, or yourself, for not being able to stop your brother from being as foolish as a cruel, ignorant girl? Here then, I shall help you.”

  In one swift stroke, she reached up, dug the nails of both of her hands into her left and right cheek, and tore ten stripes of flesh from beneath her eyes to her chin.

  “My lady,” Thomas was on her in an instant. He pulled her hands away from herself and pulled her back against his chest, his hands locking down on her wrists, crossing them against her body. “You will cease. Cease,” he pressed his lips to her shaking temple.

  As he tried to contain her efforts, he did not take his attention from Zorac, who was vibrating with a culmination of fury and emotion too great to be held within the walls of this room. The fire built and licked against the outer stones of the hearth, bathing them all in heat and the shadows of hellfire.

  Lilith became s
till of a sudden. “Please let me go, my lord,” she said softly.

  “I will not.”

  “Please, Thomas.” His name was a soft caress. “I will do myself no more harm, but I must be free to say what I wish to say to him.”

  Thomas looked down at her. She stared at Zorac and he at her, two wild, unpredictable animals gazing at each other over the expanse of a field, trying to determine who was prey and who was predator.

  Thomas slowly released her wrists, but stayed where he was. She knelt, and spread the train of her skirt over his feet, her hips finding support against his calves, his body a bulwark behind her.

  She made no attempt to wipe the blood from her face. Instead, she rubbed her palm over one cheek and extended her hand, smeared with her blood, toward the wizard.

  “There is no stronger binding than blood in a spell,” she said softly. “You told me this, when you seized my palm that day in my father’s court and cut it with a knife to complete the spell you worked on me. It felt so strange. I, who had never felt the workings of the body in lust, suddenly felt so out of control, so animal-like. But I learned. Each humiliation you forced me to endure,” her voice shook, “every rape of my mind and soul and body, I learned what it is to suffer. It was no great effort to figure out, in the end, that it was not your brother’s suffering I was being forced to understand. It was yours. Your brother went to his death believing in the purity of love, believing his life was worth its sacrifice. He died in a peace you and I will likely never know.”

  Zorac snarled and turned his back on her, pacing to the fire. Thomas stood, tense behind her, trying to anticipate the man’s actions, knowing he could likely incinerate them both without even looking at them.

  “I know I will never ease your suffering, Lord Zorac. I know I will never make up for your loss. So if you must kill me, do so. That is now my choice. I simply pray you will do my lord no harm.”