Teasing Danger [Darklands Book 1] Page 14

  "These are only cadets,” Jayems offered, almost in apology.

  Jasmine just stared at him. If these were only cadets, she shivered to think of his army in action. To her eyes, there had been nothing remotely restrained in their defense.

  The riders dismounted, pointed towards the gates and told their mounts to go. Expressions grim, the fearsome ten advanced, swords drawn, on the remaining fifty cadets. Shouted commands from the sub commanders, most of whom were still on the field, locked that remaining fifty into a strong, determined opponent. Not a flicker of fear or hint of wavering showed in the entire division.

  Yet the ten caused it to fold like a house gutted by fire.

  Jasmine winced and flinched each time an energy blade descended and decimated a cadet. She could tell that they were trying valiantly, yet heart and soul alone just wasn't enough to stop the ten. They were invincible.

  When the dust cleared this time, ten of the original hundred soldiers who'd begun the tournament remained on their feet or armed, and of those ten, two were subcommanders.

  "Tailor and Seris,” Jayems explained in an aside to her. “Our leaders earn the right to lead with cunning and skill. Nothing is given here.” He rose. “Well done,” he told the remaining ten, and they saluted him. The crowd cheered. To Mad Mathin and his men, he nodded, and received a nod in return. The soldiers left the field, and fire dancers and drummers took their places for intermission.

  "The ten who have lasted until the end will now have the honor of exhibiting their skills for you,” Jayems explained politely. “It won't be anything like what you'll see tomorrow, of course, but these men are not unskilled. I think you'll find it entertaining."

  "I thought they did very well, considering the men they were facing,” Jasmine protested, feeling the need to defend the men she'd originally set out to thank. She winced a little, thinking of the humiliating defeat they'd just suffered on her behalf. Would they still feel as charitable towards her now?

  The last half of the first day's tournament passed quickly in a stunning display of riding ability, marksmanship, and sheer daring. Jasmine was particularly fascinated by one cadet's uncanny ability to cling to his racing, saddleless mount in an astonishing number of positions. By the time she was presented with the sweating, disheveled victor of the day, she was truly in awe.

  Jasmine looked closely at the young sub commander who stood before her, the one called Seris. He must have been close to her own age, whereas all the men who would compete tomorrow were unanimously older, though still in their prime. She felt a tug of sympathy for the cadet, who'd fought so hard against such impossible odds, and after a moment, she recognized him. “Aren't you the one who gave me truffles?” she asked, frowning a little in thought.

  Seris nodded his head in respect. “Yes, my lady. I made them myself."

  Her eyes lit up. “You didn't tell me that when I thanked you for your gift!” she exclaimed. “Had I known, I would have asked you to show me how right away. Is it too late to ask now?"

  "Never, my lady,” Seris breathed, his eyes widening in disbelief at his stroke of good fortune. He'd never dared hope for so much when he'd made the admission.

  Jasmine gave him a dazzling smile and awarded him with a red sash embroidered with her name. She hadn't made it herself, but she felt it was best not to share that with him. Why ruin his moment of glory? Formally, she gave him the traditional words that Rhapsody had taught her. “I give you a token of my pleasure. May you wear it in honor of your victory for me today, in all your triumphs, until you take a wife who demands the same honor.” And then she added a touch of her own, kissing him lightly on the cheek as she presented the sash. Poor Seris looked like he might swoon. “A tradition from my own country,” She explained in the stunned silence, fearing for a moment that she'd committed a grievous social faux pas.

  The crowd erupted into wild cheers and began chanting, “SERIS! SERIS!"

  To a man, Mad Mathin and his men sent the dazed cadet looks of death as he stumbled his way from the pavilion.

  She did not see Keilor's face.

  Keilor slammed his sheathed blade down on his scarred and slightly dusty table, scattering a few stray papers with the slight breeze. “Bath!” he snarled, unbuckling his belt. The sound of splashing water immediately filled the room. He stalked towards the enormous tub, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake, and sank deeply into the steaming water.

  Tie her to a stake and fire that girl! Custom of her country or not, there had been no call to show such favoritism to a mere cadet! Now the fool was likely half in love with her, and all the true suitors for her hand seethed with jealousy. Tomorrow might well degenerate into a blood-fest, with all the warriors expecting to receive the prize of her lips.

  Certainly, the crowd had loved it. The Haunt were a highly sensual people, often given to strong emotion. With one touch of her mouth, Jasmine had elevated a lowly soldier—clearly not the match of any of the ten!—to the status of a hero. It would be a wonder if Seris didn't develop an insufferable ego.

  Keilor's eyes narrowed. Perhaps he ought to make time to give Seris a little personal training.

  He'd just dunked his hair, savoring the thought of taking Seris through some particularly punishing drills, when a knock sounded at his door. “Who is it?” Unless it was Jayems himself—

  "Jasmine,” came the answer, causing his brows to shoot up in surprise. Could the little innocent be foolish enough to brave his den? “Can I come in?"

  He debated. There was still one day of the tournament left, and much as he wanted the woman, word would travel quickly of their mating, and the rest of the suitors would be sure to be enraged. Blood would be a certainty then, and if tempers flared hot enough, entire clans might get involved. He snarled in frustration. For the sake of peace, he dare not risk it. “No,” he called with reluctance.

  There was a suspicious pause. “Is someone in there with you?"

  A crack of laughter escaped him. As if! It soothed his temper enormously, though, to hear the note of jealousy in her voice. “No.” There was a pause. He knew she hadn't left. He could practically hear her thinking.

  "I have to talk to you,” she told him, annoyance plain in her tone. “I don't think you want to discuss this through a door."

  Very well, he thought fatalistically. If she was foolish enough, he was game. Settling back with his arms on the rim of the tub and wearing a wolfish smile, he called, “It's unlocked."

  Jasmine gasped in shock at the sight of Keilor immersed in steaming water, his long, dark hair slicked back and not hiding an inch of his taunt, tanned chest. “I didn't know you were—I'll leave,” she croaked out, reaching for the door she now realized she'd closed much too fast. Trust the arrogant jerk not to warn her! Arrogant, discourteous and gorgeous, a traitorous inner voice insisted gleefully.

  He was out of the water and at her side so quickly, she barely had time to be shocked with the unprecedented view. She quickly averted her eyes, but six feet of prime naked warrior standing directly in front of her, dripping water, was not a sight any healthy young woman was likely able to block with ease. The point became moot, though, when said naked man reached out and whisked off her dress with business-like efficiency. “What are you doing?” she gasped in alarm, trying to snatch it back, but he'd already tossed it over her shoulder and reached for the hem of her chemise before the words were completely out of her mouth.

  "I need someone to wash my back,” he explained, as if it were of no consequence that he'd stripped her to her underwear. Her chemise sailed past her head to join the dress and she squealed as her lacy panties slid down her legs with frightening efficiency.

  "Not me! Stop!” she cried, shocked at the speed of her disrobing.

  "I'm not hurting you,” he said calmly. Picking her up without effort, he carried her to the bath and climbed in. He released her the moment they were immersed and settled himself on one of the low seats built into the tub. She scrambled away from him to the far end
of the bath, sinking down quickly below the concealing steam as she watched him warily. It was abundantly clear that she was not the one in charge of this situation, and from the smug look on his face, he knew it, too.

  His lips twitched with amusement. “I'm not going to rape you, woman. If that was what I wanted, better to have taken you on the floor."

  "You are vile!” she hissed, incensed. No man of her acquaintance would ever have dared to act so outrageously. “I'm going to tell Jayems what you did.” It sounded pitiful and childish, but what other defense did she have? He was too strong to fight, and she certainly couldn't drown him, much as she'd like to.

  Keilor chuckled. He shook his head, captured her wrist and plunked a bar of soap into it. “Scrub,” he ordered her with a puckish grin.

  She glared at him, but she didn't have much choice. For all of his humor, there was a chilling hint of steel in his command, and she didn't have the guts to disobey. He propped one leg expectantly up on her knees, ignoring her embarrassment. Defiance and a touch of wariness, combined with an unwanted arousal, warred within her, but she didn't dare to disobey the command in his eyes. Gritting her teeth, she swore mentally and made quick work of his long, hair-roughened legs, stopping at mid-thigh. Keilor flashed her a smile and dunked his hair, turning around and kneeling in the bottom of the tub so that she could lather it.

  Desperate to take her mind off of the long, silky mass, she brought up the reason for her visit. “What did you mean when you said that you got permission from Jayems to ‘win’ me?"

  Keilor hummed and relaxed into her hands, thoroughly enjoying the rare sensation of being pampered. “I bed you, I get to keep you,” he explained, not mincing words. No sense in her not having a perfect understanding the first time.

  Jasmine's fist tightened around a hank of his hair and she yanked, hard. Keilor's head disappeared under the water before he tore himself lose and surfaced. He whisked the water from his face and slicked back his hair, giving her a warning look through water-spiked lashes. It said clearly that once would be dismissed as funning, but twice would bring consequences.

  "I am not a slave,” she told him, displeased, and not the least bit cowed. “I'm not going to be passed around like some—"

  "I had a wife in mind, not a slave,” he assured her. Far too easily, he grasped her waist and lifted her, setting her down to straddle his thighs. The position raised the tops of her breasts out of the water, barely concealing her nipples. She struggled, hating her vulnerability, but he held her waist firmly. “Be still. You haven't washed my chest. This will make it easier for you,” he explained. Slowly he took his hands away from her and put them on the rim of the tub, holding her with his incredible eyes.

  Upset in more ways than one, she roughly scrubbed his neck, or tried to. It was difficult to do much damage with a slippery bar of soap. “You don't want a wife,” she told him with bitter certainty. She twisted a little to wash his left arm, trying to block out its solid strength, and the hard muscles under his smooth, warm skin. She couldn't hide her fine trembling. He was so beautiful! Unfortunately, his beauty was not for her. “What you want would burn out in a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks. Then what? Divorce?"

  She had reached his chest. Against her will, her hands were getting slower. It was all she could do not to squirm in agony from the fierce, demanding ache between her spread thighs. The man was killing her!

  "My marriage will be forever,” Keilor told her with quiet assurance, holding her eyes.

  Distracted, Jasmine's hand slid lower, brushing against something hard under the water. She jerked her hand away even as her body shuddered. She knew exactly what that was.

  When he said nothing, just watched her, she reached to put the bar of soap on the rim with the intention of leaving his lap, but he straightened up. “Wash my back."

  She could not have told him no for all the yen in China. Since he didn't move, only remained leaning forward, she had no choice but to embrace him. She hissed and jerked as her nipples brushed his chest hair, and it was all she could do not to moan. She refused to look at him. Bad enough that her breath quickened as her hands, slippery with soap, slid over his back. His rasping breaths in her ear were the only sign of his own arousal, as long as she didn't look into his face.

  She didn't. She couldn't, not then.

  By the time she reached his lower back her breasts were flattened against him and she didn't care. Head swimming, she reluctantly sat up and put the soap in its place. Steam rose around them. Slowly, eyes glazed, she looked at him. Twin, smoking furnaces gazed back at her. “I'm done,” she whispered.

  "Only if you want to be.” Deceptively relaxed, he waited and when she said nothing, he gripped the tub a little more tightly. “Move forward."

  Taking a breath for courage, she placed her hands on his ribs and did so, gasping at the feel of his huge erection as she caught it tightly between them.

  He hissed.

  Greatly daring, she slid her hands around his neck and rested her chin in the crook of his neck. His skin was so hot, so silky and damp, and she could not resist placing a light kiss on the hollow of his throat. He hummed deep in his chest, exciting her, making her ache.

  "Do you want me, Jasmine?” he whispered in her ear.

  "Yes,” she moaned, rocking instinctively against him, abandoning all pretense of restraint. “Oh, yes!"

  He nuzzled her ear. “Do you want my kisses?"

  "Mmm,” she agreed, but he moved away as she tried to claim his lips. Frustrated, she rubbed her head against his shoulder. He lightly stroked her spine in response, causing her to gasp and arch into him. They both groaned.

  Breathless, he asked, “Do you want me inside, Jasmine?” he moved against her and she cried out with need, nodding frantically against his neck.

  "Good. Remember that.” Before she could blink, he was out of the water and dripping on the floor as he quickly toweled off and dressed.

  And then, without a backward glance, he left.

  Chapter 9

  Keilor wanted to kill someone.

  He'd probably start with himself.

  He wrapped his trembling hands around a stone column in the gardens, pressed his hot forehead to it and gritted his teeth. She smelled so good! With an oath he peeled himself from the pillar and forced himself to walk before he lost the battle with his knees and sank to the ground.

  As he strode through the gardens, he stumbled on a rock and kicked it angrily out of his way. There was nothing he could do for himself, and there were not enough women or liquor to purge the need from his blood. He needed her. Yet he couldn't have her, not until after tomorrow.

  He needed a battle. Something fast and painful and bloody to tire himself enough for sleep. And as his feet took him to the guest barracks where the alternative suitors were, he found it.

  Or rather, him.

  Mathin's nostrils flared as the wind carried Keilor's scent to him, mixed with the provocative smell of soap and Sylph. He'd never scented anything like it. The stuff of silken sheets and moonlight, naked skin and a lover's cries. The scent of legend.

  One look at Keilor's savage face was enough to see that whatever he'd been doing with the Sylph, he hadn't bedded her. That was good, as Mathin intended to do that himself, and once he had her, he didn't intend to share.

  Just because he was Mathin, he called out in his gravely voice, “Have you prepared yourself for your humiliation tomorrow, Keilor?"

  Keilor checked in mid-stalk and pivoted to face his antagonist. Baring his teeth in a savage smile, he answered in a low rumble, “Mathin. Defeating cadets has gone to your head, it seems. You'll have to have a real warrior rid you of your delusions.” Once, years ago, he and the indomitable Mathin had been something of friends, even though they had often been rivals.

  He did not know if they were friends tonight.

  Mathin laughed recklessly. “Know any?” he asked, disparaging them both. He made no move to secure his waist length black hair
into a queue, signaling that whatever his intentions, they didn't include a battle.

  They would save that for tomorrow.

  However, it was plain that Mathin wouldn't mind a bit of mischief while the opportunity presented itself. Keilor smiled grimly. Perhaps he would provide a distraction after all.

  Amber mead flowed into Keilor's paper-thin stone cup, filling it to the brim. Mathin also replenished his own glass. Keilor's mouth lifted sardonically. No doubt Mathin would get him drunk as an elf if he let him. Granted, there wasn't much else to do in Mathin's spartan room.

  A narrow bed with a plain chest at the end of it, a small table and two chairs made up the sum of the soldier's guest room. A single window let in light. Mathin could have had better, but like most warriors, was satisfied with the bare essentials.

  Mathin shot back half his cup and then sprawled in his chair with a satisfied sigh, using one scuffed boot to tilt himself back. He laced his hands over his flat stomach, cradled the cup, and studied Keilor with curiosity. “So tell me about the Sylph."

  "She's a pocket full of trouble,” Keilor answered immediately, his scowl reborn on his face. Trouble and then some.

  The corner of Mathin's lip curled up. “But worth it?"

  Keilor drummed his fingers on the table. “I spoke with Jayems for her."

  The warrior's brows shot up. “Here is news. The untamable Master of the Hunt, captured at last by a woman?” Mathin studied him. “You have no desire for children?"

  Keilor rubbed his thumb over the rim of his cup. “I accept that I will not have them.” He could have explained that he planned on adopting a child, but the sudden tightness in his throat prevented it. A forceful swallow of mead cleared his throat enough for him to ask, “What of you? I had always assumed that you liked children. Why would you court a human?"