“Rejar, go on up ahead and scout out the area.”
Rejar immediately kicked his mount, galloping ahead. Lorgin reached under her cloak, his nimble fingers going to the fastening of her pants. She felt his other hand between them, unfastening his own.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she squeaked.
“I am about to ‘put up’ as you so aptly phrased it.” He easily pushed her pants down.
“You can’t be serious? Not here!”
“Put your legs up on the prautau’s neck.”
“No!” She was mortified.
“Very well, let us try it this way.” He lifted her onto his lap, smoothly hooking each of her legs over his own.
“You can’t do it this way!”
In the next instant he proved to her he could.
He pushed her slightly forward, then pulled her back onto him. His hands firmly planted around her waist, he sank into her. Deana sucked in her breath.
“My God!”
The only place skin touched skin was where they joined. It was an intoxicating, erotic sensation. Material slid against material; velvet stroked honey.
Initially, Lorgin let the pack animal set the pace; its rolling, rocking gait provided more than sufficient movement. Deana gasped for breath as he surged into her with every step the prautau made. She felt Lorgin’s hot lips on the back of her neck, the puffs of heated breath against her skin. The desert was silent except for the plodding thuds of the prautau’s hooves and their combined labored breaths.
Lorgin began working into the forward motion with every step the beast took. She was well aware of his powerful thigh muscles controlling the animal beneath him as well as his own movements.
“How—how far does sound travel in the desert?” she gasped.
“What?” Lorgin was somewhat preoccupied and could not believe her question. “Why…do…you…wish…to…know?” His voice was ragged. Was he actually attempting to carry on a conversation with her now? By Aiyah, this woman—
He groaned as she unexpectedly augmented his movement.
“Because I think I’m going to scream and I don’t want Rejar to hear,” she panted.
Lorgin’s low chuckle vibrated against her neck. “Scream all you like. I am sure Rejar will understand.”
“Lorgin!”
He nipped the nape of her neck. “What do you think he thinks we are doing?”
Deana tried to turn around. “He doesn’t!”
Lorgin paled significantly at her movement. He quickly turned her back around. “Please. Do not turn again. This could be an…intricate…situation. I do not wish to be unmanned on the back of a prautau. And I assure you, he does.”
“How could he? This is a standard mating position here? Backwards on the back of a beast crossing the desert?”
Lorgin started laughing behind her.
“Adeeann, you are going to make me lose…this mood.”
Deana pushed back into him. “You put in the ante, Lorgin, don’t you dare fold on me now.” She rubbed against him, feeling him twitch inside her.
“Ah, as I suspected, a bluff.”
Lorgin’s hands at her waist pulled her down, tight against him. He wasn’t laughing now; he was quite focused. With a couple of incredibly sensuous moves, he took them both over the edge.
Deana’s head fell back against his chest as she fought to regain her breath. Lorgin refastened her pants, then his own. He leaned over and sweetly kissed her on the mouth before he softly whispered against her lips.
“Be warned, Little Fire. I always answer a challenge.”
“Yes, I have noticed that about you,” she mumbled as his mouth once more covered her own.
They made camp shortly before sundown. Once the two sleep huts were set up, Lorgin brought out some rather bland fare for their evening meal. No one was very excited about it. Even Lorgin lamented the deprivations one had to endure while on a quest.
Rejar seemed pretty forlorn, enclosing himself in his hut soon after they finished the meal. Deana and Lorgin entered their hut soon after, having no desire to be out in the desert after darkness fell. Deana was relieved to see that the hut had a floor, and once the door flap was closed, they were completely sealed from the outside.
They quickly undressed, getting under the fur of their pallet. The temperature was rapidly dropping, and it seemed the hut didn’t protect them from the temperature change. It was getting cold. They snuggled together cuddling under the fur. Until Deana felt something.
“Lorgin, something’s moving under the pallet!”
He grinned rather raunchily at her. “What do you mean?”
She gave him a double take. “Not that! I mean under the pallet.”
“Do not concern yourself with this. Nothing can penetrate the hut.”
Something squished under her. She shuddered, horrified.
“But it’s moving!”
His arms came around her, partially lifting her onto him. “Here. Is this better for you?”
It was. Marginally. “Yes,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Good.” His hands cupped her face. He raised his head, brushing his mouth across hers. “Is this better?”
“Yes, but—”
His hands moved down to her derriere, cupping her buttocks, gently squeezing the rounded globes as he enticingly brushed her mouth again. “Is this better?” he breathed close to her parted lips.
“Lorgin, I hear shuffling sounds outside and I thought I heard—”
He swirled his tongue inside her mouth, his large palms stroking her back as he whispered against her. “I could show you another way of riding that is just as pleasurable as the one we shared earlier—”
She broke away from his roaming lips. “Lorgin, I hear something out there!”
There was a distinct shuffling sound.
Lorgin instantly raised his head, lowering her beside him. He was just reaching for the Cearix when the hut door was unfastened and four heads peered in. They did not look friendly. Lorgin uttered what Deana assumed was a potent epithet in Aviaran.
One of the heads spoke. “Come out now, Off Landers, and no tricks.”
Lorgin faced the man, towering over him. “Let my woman and me clothe ourselves first.”
The man grinned, showing an assortment of odd teeth. “And why should I let you do that, Off Lander?”
Lorgin regarded him coolly. “Because I will kill any man who gazes upon my naked wife.” Deana raised her eyebrows. That was succinct. A little extreme, but then, this was Lorgin.
The other man’s eyes flicked to their clothes on the floor, widening slightly as he noticed Lorgin’s cloak. “So, you are of the Charl. No tricks from you, now, Off Lander. Give me your word and you may clothe yourselves.”
“My word.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Your word as a Charl or we kill you both, and then the Familiar.”
“My word as a Charl.”
“Be quick about it.” The men retreated, and the flap closed, but did not seal.
Lorgin did not seem happy at having been maneuvered by the man into the promise. Deana wondered why Rejar hadn’t sent them a warning telepathically. A horrible thought entered her head. She clutched Lorgin’s arm.
“Are they Oberion slavers?” Her worry was mirrored on her face. Lorgin reached up, brushing her cheek.
“No, zira. They are desert nomads. Very fierce, very brave, and very greedy. They will try to steal everything we have, and then leave us in the desert to rot. They will take Rejar and sell him to the slavers.”
“What can we do? Why didn’t Rejar warn us?”
“They must have rendered him unconscious somehow. A small number of them have the Sight. One of them must have seen a Familiar amongst us. That alone would have prompted them to pursue us. He would be quite valuable to those who live a hand-to-mouth existence.”
A harsh voice penetrated the flap. “Stop that talking! Hurry up in there or we will come in and get you, Charl, threat or no threat.??
?
Lorgin clenched his powerful fists. “If you do, I will take many down with me—starting with you. And if you know anything about the Charl, foolish man, you know we never make threats…only promises.”
Dead silence followed that remark.
Lorgin took her hand, leading her into the desert night. Deana tried not to look down as she walked across the sand. She felt Lorgin kick something away from her path. A slithering sound came from her right. She started to shake. Lorgin picked her up in his arms.
His steely gaze went to the same man he had talked to earlier. “Let my wife sit upon a prautau.”
The leader nodded curtly.
Once she had been placed on top of the beast, Deana drew a deep breath to calm her failing nerves. Her gaze raked over the campsite, searching for a glimpse of Rejar. Her hand went to her mouth in horror when she spotted him.
He was lashed to a prautau. Even from this distance she could see that his phenomenal eyes were glazed and disoriented. They obviously had drugged him.
Deana had seen Rejar in many moods: happy, mischievous, smoldering, anguished by his brother’s poisoning, courageous, and selfless. But she had never seen him like this.
He was a wild tiger.
He thrashed at his bindings, his eyes spewing venomous hatred at the men who had captured him. Deana could feel his rage. It was a palpable thing. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he began howling at the moons. But his was a calculated rage. His glazed eyes noted each man as they sat around the campfire they had lit, as if marking them for a future hunt. Many a man, noticing the Familiar’s penetrating stare, turned nervously away, marking a sign in the air. She supposed it was a sign against the evil eye.
Lorgin, too, had noticed his brother. His expression was at once angry and deeply empathetic. “Above all else, Familiars cannot abide to lose their freedom.”
“Why doesn’t he transform himself to escape?” she whispered.
“This drug they have given him disorients him so that the transformation is impossible for him.”
“You mean he can’t change?”
“He can. But to do so would most likely result in death, for the drug debilitates him. He cannot focus on the process and could possibly lose the ability to become his cat self, or the ability to change back into a man. The result would be disintegration.”
“This is terrible!” Her heart went out to the man who was tied up like a wild animal.
Lorgin squeezed her hand. “I have heard stories of male Familiars choosing disintegration, rather than be taken as slaves.”
“You don’t think Rejar would—”
“No, for he also has the blood of Krue, and a son of Krue would not take this path. It would not be honorable to the Lodarres line. Rejar will fight—to his death if need be.”
A powwow appeared to be going on between several of the men, including the leader, a man they called Searan. Some arguing ensued. Finally Searan got up and approached Lorgin.
“Your Familiar is making some of my men nervous. They will not travel the night desert with him for fear he will call to the beasts to attack them. We will remain here until daybreak, then head east. There is a small oasis often frequented by Oberion traders on their journeys. All of us agree it would be wise to unload the Familiar as soon as possible, even if we could get a better price for him elsewhere. My men feel the risk of keeping him contained is too great. We have decided to sell the woman as well.”
Searan watched the golden-haired man carefully for a response. The Charl had said nothing. But his eyes promised much. Searan knew that a man such as this Off Lander would not rest until he avenged himself against his enemies. Searan must make sure this would not happen.
Searan knew that it would be foolish to murder a Charl. To do so would be to invite horrors down upon his head, the likes of which he did not care to think about. And it would only cause another Charl to seek him out and destroy him.
No, he had a better way.
“You, Charl, will be taken to the Waters of Tomorrow. There you will be immersed in the springs, and all that you have known in your lifetime will be wiped from your mind.”
The man did not react as Searan had expected. In fact, he did not react in any visible way. But his woman did. Indeed, the little female Off Lander seemed more upset over the Charl’s fate than her own. Perhaps Searan could use that to his advantage in the future.
Lorgin’s icy eyes became warmer as he regarded Deana. She was so kindhearted, his Adeeann. He was not concerned over his own supposed fate. The stupid Searan did not even realize that Lorgin was a fourth-level mystic and so had power over water, even spellbound water. He needed to come up with a plan to help them escape from these nomads. He would bide his time. It would come to him. Thus Yaniff had trained him.
Lorgin stayed by Deana all night. Against her protests, he removed his cloak, placing it over her own when the cold night air flowed around them. Discreetly, Lorgin directed a warm stream of air to both Deana and Rejar, who had been dragged from his hut wearing nothing but his pants and boots and now was tied to a post.
Deana watched Rejar. His head was slumped forward, and he sagged against the bindings which held him. The drug had finally overcome his monumental efforts to keep it at bay. Deana closed her eyes against the heartrending sight of Rejar held captive. She waited for the dawn with Lorgin.
Something unexpected happened at first light. The nomads were attacked by another band of nomads.
Blades sliced the air; blood stained the sand; yells and war cries rent the air. Deana covered her ears and tightly closed her eyes to block out the violence around her.
Lorgin quickly gathered her to him, shielding her with himself while he protectively hid her face in his chest lest she see the horror of the battle.
The three of them, obviously prisoners, were left alone by the invaders.
When the battle was over, there was a different tribe surrounding them; Searan and his group had been run off. The leader of these men looked them over to see what he had won.
He walked purposefully toward Rejar. Grabbing a hank of Rejar’s hair, he roughly pulled back his head, peering into his bloodshot dual-colored eyes. The leader spat upon the ground, then swiftly removed a huge blade from his waistband. Alarmed, Lorgin started forward, but the leader whooshed the blade through the air, slicing Rejar’s bonds in an instant.
Rejar sank wearily to the ground.
“I do not abide with slavery, Familiar, but be warned. We are still thieves and murderers.”
Rejar slowly got to his feet, massaging his stiff muscles. “Better a thief and a murderer than a slaver.”
“Hah!” The leader slapped his thigh. Then he turned his gaze to Deana. His eyes lit up. “Perhaps we do have a treasure here after all.” His gaze fell to the necklace around her neck.
Lorgin, seeing the recognition in the man’s eyes, stepped forward. “Let us go. We mean you no harm and can offer you nothing.”
The man regarded Lorgin. “No? There is something around her neck that is worth much…some would say it is priceless.” He turned to his men. “She wears the Shimalee!”
A chorus of “Ahs” greeted his statement. He focused on Deana, but spoke to Lorgin. “Is she a true wearer or an infidel impostor?”
“She is true,” Lorgin responded. Deana wisely kept silent.
The leader scratched his chin. “Tell her to cast a spell. If she casts a spell, I will let you all live and you will be free to go. If she cannot, you all die where you stand.”
Lorgin calmly turned to Deana. “Cast a spell, Adeeann.” Deana looked at him as if he had lost his senses. “Do it. Now.”
“Are you nuts?” she hissed back at him. “I can’t—”
Lorgin grabbed her to him to muffle her words. He spoke low in her ear. “Say something—anything. Recite something, sing something. I do not care, just sound like you mean it.” He released her.
A high school football cheer her grandfather used to chant popped in
to her head. Now how did it go? She thought for a moment, not remembering it exactly, but that wouldn’t matter to these guys.
Suddenly, she leaped in the air, waving her arms like a cheerleader, hopping and jumping.
“Brackety-ax! co-ax! co-ax!
Hi-ho! Hi-ho!
Wallego-wallego wax!
Yah team! Yah team!
Tou……ch down!”
She attempted a split at the end and flopped over face first into the sand.
A chorus of ‘Ahhhs’ followed her.
Lorgin’s eyes flicked over her, an incredulous look in them. He shook his head briefly, not believing what he had witnessed.
The leader was not so easily swayed as his henchmen. “What kind of a spell did you cast?” he spoke directly to Deana.
“What kind of spell did I cast?” She turned beseechingly to Lorgin. “What kind of a spell did I cast?”
Lorgin quickly answered. “She cast a spell on you to doubt her ability to cast spells.”
“What?” The leader didn’t seem to be buying it.
“Is it not true? Do you not have such doubts?”
“Yes, but surely—”
“There, you can see her powers.”
The chorus concurred with their “ahhhs.”
The leader was becoming flustered. His men were entranced by the ridiculous display. It was clear he had no choice but to let his captives go now. He stroked his beard, coming to a decision.
“You are free to go. Take your things and leave.”
They quickly gathered their belongings. Before they left, the leader grabbed Lorgin’s arm taking him aside. “I think it was more your swift mind and sharp tongue which saved you, Off Lander, and not any spell from this woman.”
Lorgin smiled at the crafty old desert fox. “Not true; for any fool can see that this woman has indeed cast a powerful spell over this Charl.”
The nomad laughed heartily, slapping Lorgin on the back; he sent them all on their way.
Chapter Eleven
Traed ta’al Theardar looked up from the book he was reading to coolly stare at his manservant. The man knew better than to interrupt him when he sought solitude. If Traed were in a frame of mind to be fair he would acknowledge the fact that he often sought solitude these days and considered just about everything an interruption. But he wasn’t in such a frame of mind. After all, this was his home; he was not obligated to be fair.