Heart of the Hunter Page 17

  She was looking down at him when he drew back, her eyes heavy-lidded, mouth ripe and wet from his kisses. She smiled dreamily and waded her fingers into the hair at his temple. He took her hand and kissed her palm, sensually tasting her with the tip of his tongue. Then he rose up and lifted one perfect breast out of her bodice and slipped the rose-dark crest into his mouth. Every fiber in his body responded to that sweet suckling, to the pebble hardness of her nipple as he drew it deeper into his mouth.

  Ariana moaned his name, fisting her hands in the back of his tunic and arching into his embrace like a tightly drawn bow. Her legs quivered as he caressed and kissed her, her limbs weakening beneath her in her pleasure.

  "Come here," Braedon whispered as he hooked her arm around his shoulder and scooped her up into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down atop the fur covered mattress, kissing her all the while. He pressed her back with the length of his body, bearing her down beneath him, his arousal straining between the layers of clothing that separated them, starving for all she would give him.

  She lay beneath him in pretty dishabille, her gown slipping off one shoulder, her hair a mussed tangle, her face flushed with arousal.

  "Tell me to stop," he heard himself order her in a rough whisper. But even as he said it, his lips roamed down the graceful column of her throat, nipping at the tender flesh that pulsed so deliciously against his tongue. He dipped his head and plundered the soft swell of her bosom, gathering her breasts in his hands and pulling her free of her bodice. "Tell me to let you go, Ariana. If you do not...ah, God, if you do not..."

  He had no will to wait for her denial. With a growl of pure need, he stripped her of her gown and hose, feasting his senses on the beauty spread out before him. His own clothes came off in a frenzied rush. He could scarcely hold a single thought until he was poised above her, naked as she was, his body taut and hungry. Her heavy-lidded gaze traveled the length of him, coming to rest shyly on that part of him that knew no modesty at all.

  Thick and ruddy, his sex thrust out from the thatch of dark hair at his groin, straining for her touch. He took her hand and led it to his stiff member, closing her fingers around the width of him. Her hand looked very small, very pale against the flushed spear of his organ. He watched her marvel at the size of him, her uncertain caresses enflaming him to the point of breaking. "I want to be in you, Ariana. I should not ask this of you, but God help me, there is nothing I want more. Nothing I have ever wanted more."

  He smoothed his hand along the lovely line of her body, delighting in the spray of gooseflesh that followed in his wake. He stroked the tender skin at her hip, letting his fingers wade into the flossy pale brown curls between her legs. She sucked in her breath when he touched her there, sliding the length of his finger between the dewy folds of her mound. Her fingers squeezed him reflexively as he penetrated her tight sheath with his fingertip. "Oh...Braedon..."

  "This is where I want to be, angel."

  He pressed deeper, stretching her by fractions to gradually take more of him. She gasped, biting off a soft, mewling cry as he found the pearl of her womanhood and teased it with his slickened thumb. "I want you, too," she whispered around a wondrous moan of pleasure. She arched against his questing hand, guileless and needful, her body weeping in readiness. She had let go of his shaft and now clutched at him, urging him down. "Braedon, please...yes...I want you, too." Her eyes were dazed and heavy, deepened to a sensual shade of indigo. "Please...I want you...there."

  "Yes," he growled, shifting himself to cover her with his body. Braced on one elbow, he guided himself to the entrance of her womb. Her heat seared his swollen shaft as he slid along her silky folds, teasing before he would take her, knowing there would be pain soon to come. She watched his face with complete trust, her breath coming quick and shallow as he stroked her with the length of his sex.

  He couldn't wait much longer. He leaned down and kissed her, catching her plump lower lip between his teeth. He cleaved her lips with his tongue, parting her mouth the way he parted her sex to his invading member. She opened to him like a flower, arching beneath him and crying a soft gasp against his mouth as his head met the barrier of her maidenhead. He couldn't have turned back if he tried. Plundering her mouth in a savage kiss, he thrust himself into her sheath.

  She went taut in that instant, every muscle tightening in response to his sudden presence. He moved slowly, giving her time, kissing her all the while. "Is it all right?" he asked, looking down into her moist, glistening eyes. "I don't want to hurt you. I'll stop--"

  She gave a small shake of her head. "No, don't stop. I just...I didn't know."

  He kissed her, tenderly now, forcing his tempo to the gentlest he could manage. She was so tight around him, like a fist of wet heat. He reached between them to stroke her as he moved within her. She moaned softly, relaxing beneath him as he pleasured her with his fingers. She took more of him with each gasp and sigh, accommodating every thrust until he was plunging deep, chasing the crest of a fierce release. He felt it building, felt the rise of coming rapture, felt it tightening like a coil in his loins.

  Ariana was writhing beneath him, so close to climax. He quickened his touch on her swollen nub, teasing and stroking until she screamed with her release. He followed her there in the next instant, withdrawing on a shout of harsh pleasure as his seed spurted between them in a hot, pearly stream.

  For a long while, he couldn't move. He clung to her, as she clung to him, silent but for the ragged sounds of their breathing. His heart thundered in his ears. He had never felt so spent, so gloriously sated. He rose up to tell her so, but his praise died on his lips.

  "You're crying. Ah, Christ. If I have hurt you--"

  "No," she said, even as a fat tear rolled down her temple and into her hair. "I'm not in any pain now. Not anymore."

  Had he felt glorious a moment ago? Now he felt brutish, little better than an animal. Even worse, when he drew back and saw the pink stains on her thighs and on the coverlets. Her blood, smeared all over. He got up, sick with himself for what he had just done to her. Not just the blood, but everything. He took her innocence tonight, something he could never give back to her. He had needed, and he had taken.

  Cursing roundly, he got up off the bed and yanked on his hose. He grabbed his tunic and pulled it on while Ariana sat up on the bed. She dabbed at the mess, looking sheepish and younger than he wanted to admit. He should have been the one to stop things here. He knew what he was asking, even if she hadn't. "You'll want to clean up," he said, cursing himself for noticing, even now, how delectable she looked in the middle of the bed, naked and flushed, her hair a golden tangle. He gentled his expression as he met her wounded gaze. "I'll go, and leave you a few minutes of privacy."

  Her voice was very quiet. "Are you upset with me? Have I ruined this for us?"

  "No. It's not you."

  "Then why are you so eager to be away from me?"

  "I won't be long." He didn't trust himself to touch her again, not while his body was still raging with want. He couldn't wait to get out of that tiny room, away from Ariana and the temptation she still provided, just sitting there, watching him go. "Don't open the door for anyone until I get back."

  He didn't wait for her reply, merely strode out the door and closed it behind him, pausing to hear the metallic slide of the lockbar settling into place before he continued on down the corridor toward the inn's tavern room and public house.

  * * *

  It seemed as though Braedon had been gone for hours. Dressed in her chemise, Ariana paced the small room, marveling over the intimacy they had shared and wondering what she had done wrong to make him leave so abruptly. Her mouth still burned with the memory of his kiss, as did other, more shameful parts of her body. Her wantonness shocked her, it was so foreign to anything she had ever experienced before. Now that he was gone, she felt utterly empty and confused.

  She didn't know what she felt for Braedon now. All she knew was that she missed him with a keen
ness that bordered on anguish, a deep desire to be near him, even if he was scowling and brooding and striving so hard to shut her out of his heart.

  She wanted to apologize for whatever she had done to disappoint him, so when she heard his careful footsteps in the corridor outside their room, his staccato rap on the thick oak panel, she flew to the door and scarcely hesitated to throw open the latch and let him in.

  "Braedon," she said as the door swung wide and his broad shoulders and torso filled the frame. "Braedon, I'm sorry..."

  Her gaze settled on a massive chest garbed in chain mail and black wool. A chest emblazoned with a fierce dragon rampant, snarling in the center of it. A low chuckle rumbled out of that dragon's flame-breathing mouth, the thunderous roll of laughter sounding wickedly arrogant and menacing. Blood-red wool draped the wide bulk of the intruder's shoulders, the heavy winter mantle falling in dark waves around his large frame and spurred black boots. Uneasily, Ariana dragged her stunned gaze upward, to a hard, chiseled face. Green eyes fringed in midnight-black lashes swept over her disheveled appearance in an appreciative, if uncompassionate, glance.

  "Nay, demoiselle. I am not Braedon. For once I find I wholeheartedly regret that fact." He bared a row of straight white teeth, a devastating smile even on a devil like the one standing before her now. Another knight moved in behind him, but her gaze remained fixed and stricken on the angel of death who stood before her, his gloved hand resting on the gleaming hilt of a sheathed broadsword. "I'm sorry to disturb, Lady Ariana, but I believe you have something I want."

  Chapter 13

  "What will you have, sir?"

  The innkeeper passed a bowl of pottage to a waiting patron then leaned across the scarred wooden counter to look impatiently at Braedon. It took a moment for his query to register, for all of Braedon's senses were tuned elsewhere and still ringing with want of Ariana. She was his true hunger, perhaps all the more, now that he'd tasted of her sweetness. He had never known a want so strong, a need so consuming as that which held him when he'd been kissing Ariana. Touching her.

  Desire was all he knew, even now, as he stood in the center of a busy public house, willing his blood to cool and trying to deny the power she had over him. With effort, he turned his mind away from thoughts of her and met the innkeeper's waiting stare.

  "We've stew aplenty this eve'n," the man offered as he filled a tankard for another lodger and handed it back, "but if you want any of the roast boar, you'd best speak up."

  "Anything will do," Braedon murmured over the din of conversation that filled the smoky tavern. The establishment had been bustling when he and Ariana had arrived earlier that evening, but now the place was stuffed nigh to the rafters with travelers of all sorts, the lot of them forced to commingle while the weather howled outside. Country folk timidly sat at trestle tables with boisterous knights and haughty nobles, and in a far corner near the fireplace sat a young clergyman reading from his Bible to a group of fidgeting, restless children.

  It was an unlikely assemblage, and harmless enough, Braedon thought as he let his eyes stray over the dozens of bodies and faces crowding the public house...but something niggled at him nevertheless. Something wasn't right.

  "Give me the boar," he told the innkeeper, a prickling of unease creeping up his neck and along his spine. "And a loaf of bread if you have it, some wine, too."

  As he spoke, the prickling of his senses sharpened and took root, became something colder. A warning, a sudden wash of dread. His head went up sharply, eyes keen and narrowed, nostrils flaring as he drew in a breath. It was ripe with the scent of danger.

  God's blood.

  They were here.

  Their pursuers had found them, and he had been too blinded by lust to know it. He didn't see them in the room, but malice loomed in the air like bitter ash. They were here, and they would be looking for Ariana and the satchel. It wouldn't take them long to find her, particularly when he had left her alone in the room. Pray God he wasn't already too late.

  "Ariana," he murmured, vaulting away from the counter in a rush of fury and not a little panic. He shoved his way through the knot of milling tavern patrons, ignoring the baffled exclamation of the innkeeper behind him. Like a savage beast who'd snapped its leash, Braedon bolted from the busy public house and up the stairs toward the inn's private rooms, his boots thundering on the wooden planks as he ran the length of the darkened corridor.

  His heart was pounding in his ears as he neared the door to the room where Ariana awaited him. It was closed tight, just as he'd left it. Exhaling a breath that shook more than he expected, Braedon reached out to take the black iron latch in his hand. He squeezed it, and knew a stab of ice-cold dread as the unlocked lever gave way with a metallic snick, and the door swung open.

  Ariana was standing on the other side of the room facing him, her slender figure held unnaturally stiff beneath the rumpled folds of her disheveled kirtle. She stood half-ensconced in shadow, her worried face and trembling hands gilded by the glow of the waning hearth fire. Eyes wide and fearful, she mouthed his name and gave him a vague little shake of her head as he stepped over the threshold--a warning he knew he did not deserve.

  It was too late to heed it anyway. The moment his boot crossed into the room, a blade came up and pressed under his chin. Ariana cried out then, and moved as if she meant to come to his aid. Just as someone had been waiting for him beside the door, another stood behind Ariana. A bulky arm came out of the shadows at her back and snaked around her midsection, halting her with an ungentle tug. The guard chuckled as he pushed her forward, into the light.

  "Bastard," Braedon snarled. His muscles tensed, and he felt the sharp steel of a dagger bite into his throat, encouraging him to heel. He didn't have to see the knight who held him to know who it was. With a muttered curse, he spat the name into the dimly lit room. "Draec le Nantres. Would that I had killed you all those months ago."

  The mercenary laughed low, a familiar, jovial roll of humor, but the blade remained poised and unflinching beneath Braedon's chin. "Le Chasseur," he acknowledged glibly. "Is that any way to greet an old friend? Come in, why don't you? It seems we have some catching up to do."

  Despite the razor-edged threat hovering at his throat, Braedon might have attempted to resist this trap, but a quick glance in Ariana's direction gave him another reason to cooperate, at least for the moment. Draec's man also held a blade on her. The obedient glint in the blackguard's eyes bespoke the readiness with which he'd be willing to inflict harm. All it would take was a command from Draec, a man Braedon once trusted like a brother.

  "Close the door behind you, Braedon, and step inside." The dagger beneath his chin eased off with the issuance of the cool command. Draec was no fool. No doubt he knew the knife on Ariana was as good as the one he held on Braedon. He sensed a bond there, and that was dangerous information in an enemy's hands. "I think you know why I am here."

  Braedon did as instructed and came forward a step, halting face-to-face with his old friend. "Dare I hope you've come to let me settle the unfinished business between us?"

  "You'd like that." Draec grunted, his cold green gaze unwavering, even as it passed over Braedon's scar. "I do understand. What I did was...regrettable."

  "What you did cost four people their lives. Men you broke bread with, men who called you friend. And that wasn't half the wrath you brought down on us that day."

  "As I said, regrettable. But then you left me no choice, did you, my friend?"

  "You had a choice. You made it."

  Dark acknowledgment glimmered in the mercenary's eyes, the harsh line of his mouth tightening almost imperceptibly. "What I did was necessary, I assure you. And are you really so different than me? After all, we both want the same thing. We're both here for the Chalice. Aren't we?" He slanted a look at Ariana, then turned back to Braedon with a knowing smile. "It would seem all that differs is our method of obtaining it. Tell me, Lady Ariana, what's the less ignoble approach: negotiating with cold-edged steel, or calcul
ated seduction?"

  Braedon felt Ariana's eyes root on him from across the room. She made a small noise of distress, but whether it was due to her captor's rough handling of her or Draec's crude assumption, he could not be sure. He exhaled a humorless chuckle and glared at his one-time friend. "You've got it wrong, le Nantres. I have no interest in that hell-wrought cup. I want no part of it. I had more than my fill of the Dragon Chalice eighteen months ago."

  "Truly?" Draec growled, one dark brow lifting in challenge. With his dagger, he gestured to the rumpled bed, atop which was scattered the rifled contents of Kenrick's satchel. "Then where's the map?"

  "What map?"

  On the far side of the room, the guard brought his knife a little higher against Ariana, pressing the blade meaningfully to the bare skin above her bodice. She cried out, a sharp gasp of terror. "Braedon, this man is involved with Kenrick's capture. He wants the parchment I was looking for the other night. It's not in the satchel. If you know where it is, you must tell them!"

  "Listen to her, le Chasseur. I have no wish to harm the girl, but some men's sense of sport is not so discerning, I fear. I want that map, and I want it now."

  He couldn't do it. Even if he had the map in his possession, he could not willingly surrender it to Draec or his employer. He could not provide Silas de Mortaine such easy access to the Chalice treasure. Braedon stared at Draec in defiance, clenching his teeth so hard a muscle jumped in his jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about. There is no map."

  "Braedon!" Ariana gaped at him, incredulous. "What are you saying? I know it was there. It was in the satchel. I saw it when we spent the night together in the cavern..."