Chapter Four

Drogo stood on the battlements watching the Captain of one of his battalions approach castle Draken. The man stealthily made his way to the tower where Bane had his quarters; he should be on his way make his report to General Burus. The captain pounded one of the thick stones, and they slid apart to reveal Bane standing in the opening. He quickly ushered the man in as the wall glided shut.

“So the plot thickens.” Drogo’s eyes narrowed. Soon he would have to clip the wings of the overly ambitious Bane.

Swiveling on his heel, he turned his back on the bleak landscape and entered his private chambers. Long, blood-red velvet drapery hung at the windows, hindering the weak winter sunlight from brightening the gloom in the room. Seated by a roaring fire sat a woman; she was a study in black and white. Her waist length hair was a black so dense it reflected no light, her lips artificially blacked with ebonberries, as were her talon-like nails. Her skin was so white it would be sickly but for a black mat covering her mons, which stood out starkly between long elegant legs. Hanging heavily on her ankle was a restraining charm of onyx. Sorcha was the most sensual and beautiful of his bound women. She was also a very gifted sorceress; unfortunately she had been taken before she had started her training with the high mentors, so she was largely self taught.

“They plot against me Sorcha, my pet. Do they think me so simple-minded that I would trust any of them? Show me,” he commanded, gesturing to a wide bowl set on a stand across the room.

Rising, she made her way sinuously to the scrying bowl. Drogo’s eyes noted every minute undulation of her shapely ass. She muttered an incantation and the opaque water in the bowl cleared to show Bane and the captain in heated discussion. They listened as he reported of the sudden appearance of the combined forces from the provinces, led by Rhys Sorren. They had lost many men … and worse, they came away empty handed.

Enraged by what he heard, Drogo swept the bowl off the table. The knowledge that Rhys had bested him again ate at him like a cancer.

“So the wolf has decided to bare his fangs; let’s see about defanging him. They couldn’t have accomplished that feat without the aid of enhancers. If Rhys has bonded, why wasn’t I informed immediately?” Drogo snarled, his hard gaze questioning.

“Una has made a study of the bloodlines. I assume she must have some idea which enhancer he’d be mated with,” said Sorcha tonelessly.

“Have my advisors meet me in my study. It’s time I tightened the reins on that duplicitous duo. Place the Captain under arrest and have him thrown into my dungeon,” he commanded.

Dismissing Sorcha, he crossed to a sconce on the wall and twisted it. The wall swung open, revealing a hidden room behind it. Stepping in, he depressed a stone in the wall, shutting it behind him. The room was brightly lit by floor-to-ceiling hollow crystal columns filled with moonstones. In the center of the room stood a large crystal suspended three feet above the floor. He sat in the worn armchair before it and stared longingly at the sleeping woman encased in the stone. She had not aged a day in the fifteen years since he’d stolen her from her family. He had intended to make her his bride, siring children rich with magic. But before he could bed and wed her, she had cast a spell putting her beyond his reach.

His numerous attempts to break the spell had all been in vain. Nothing worked; neither the blackest magic cast by witches and sorcerers in his service nor the white magic he’d acquired through trickery had released her. The silvery blonde hair, blue eyes and golden skin beckoned him. His lust for her grew with each passing year. Just to be able to run his hand over her supple curves and bury himself into her yielding body would be heaven itself. As if sensing his frustration her eyes opened, and she smiled. It mocked him as it always did, on the rare occasions she acknowledged his presence.

Suspended in the gem, but aware of the world beyond her crystal cage, Orriane ap Syrren waited patiently. Time meant nothing to her. She stared at her jailor and delicately probed his mind. Gleaning the information was easy, for he always let his guard down in this room. Her smile widened as she closed her eyes to shut him out, knowing how much it infuriated him. Soon, she thought, as she drifted away into another state of consciousness.

Drogo slammed his fist against the cold impenetrable surface of the crystal to bring her back; even a mocking smile was better than her indifference.

“Mark me well, Orianne, you will be mine. You have my oath as a Belandrake.” With those words he left his chambers and made his way to his study. He found his advisors waiting for him, talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Marching in to the room without sparing them a glance, he sat behind a table facing them. The walls of the room had shelves laden with tomes on alchemy, books about poisons and potions. Others held spells and how to create talismans; everything Drogo could get his hands on to regain his waning magic.

Nonchalantly, he rocked back in his chair, placing his booted feet on the surface of the table. He picked up an ebony wand, twirling it between his fingers. With a casual gesture he called Sorcha to his side. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her forcibly closer to him and trailed his lips across her knuckles, then nipped them painfully.

“A little bird tells me that Rhys Sorren has bonded with an enhancer.” Reaching up he fondled one of Sorcha breasts, pinching the berry red nipple. Knowing she hated these public displays of his ownership, he smiled when she flinched. His advisors shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of his mood. “So tell me Una, who is the lucky bride?”

Drogo watched as she blanched, pinned by his gaze. He could taste her fear.

“My Lord, to my knowledge he has not taken a bride.” She saw her post as Drogo’s head witch slipping away by the tone of his inquiry.

“Really? Then explain to me how it is that Rhys was able to move several battalions from Castle Sorren to Straith without even breaking a sweat.” Each word was an accusation.

“I couldn’t say, My Lord,” she mumbled.

“Johan, any thoughts on the subject?” Drogo pinned his Prime Minister with a scornful stare. It really was time the man retired, but he kept the country running so Drogo could pursue his interests.

“No, Sire,” he sighed. Sweat ran down his spine, leaving a damp line in the fine silk of his over robe.

“Well Bane, as my spymaster, I hope you can do better.” As always, he was unnerved by the directness of Bane’s gaze.

“Actually, I can, My Lord. I’ve recently secured a new tool within the ranks of Rhys’ inner circle. If the information he sent me proves to be true, he should be invaluable,” Bane answered smugly, telling Drogo no more then necessary.

“Enlighten me.”

“The raids for the moonstones have caused the provinces to band together to protect themselves against our forces. So the teleporters have been temporarily paired with enhancers to move their troops as needed.” Bane imparted the information in a flat voice.

“You didn’t think it prudent to tell me this before I sent five battalions to be decimated?”

“I’ve only just now received the information through my network; it took a day or two. My spy in the Sorren camp doesn’t have a way to contact me directly.”

“Have him brought to me,” Drogo demanded, tired of Bane’s dribbles of information. He would wring what he needed out of the informant himself.

“My Lord, he would be compromised if there is any inkling of his betrayal,”

“Immediately,” Drogo stared at Bane, his eyes expressionless.

“It will be as you command, My Lord.” Bane backed out of the room at Drogo’s dismissal. The other two started to follow him, hoping to escape unscathed.

“Oh Una, do stay and tell me why you were studying the bloodline scrolls. Johan, you can go. Close the door behind you.” The deadly quiet of his command stopped the terrified woman in her tracks before she could make her escape.

The closing of the door sounded like a clap of doom to Una; her fellow advisors deserted her without a qualm. Turning to face Drogo, she found his gaze merciless.

“I sought to glean information for you, My Lord. With the aid of an enhancer I might be able to link with Darreth while she reads the tapestry.”

“What tapestry? I thought you could only link with someone of the same bloodlines.”

“The tapestry was created by an elven ancestor of Darreth’s eons ago to read what went on in the magical world. Darreth and I are distant cousins, My Lord.”

“How is it that a cousin of the High Mentor Darreth ap Syrren came to be in my service?”

“I was indentured as a child for life to your father, for a debt owed to him by my father,” she replied bitterly.

“This tapestry, would you be able to read it?” This tapestry could show him where to find the sword.

“No, only the women of Darreth’s line can. If I linked with her when she was doing a reading I could eavesdrop, so to speak.”

“Would she be able to read the troop movements of Draken’s army?” He calculated as he digested this new bit of information.

“No, she can only see things with magical energy. I hoped it would tell me where to find what you seek,” Una mumbled shakily.

“Who besides Darreth could read the tapestry?” Eyes narrowed, Drogo’s mind raced at the possibility of having such power at his disposal. He would have to plot carefully.

“Orianne, her daughter, would have been able to, but she mysteriously disappeared years ago. I guess any one of her three granddaughters could.”

“Did the scrolls reveal if any of them are enhancers?” Drogo questioned the woman relentlessly.

“All three sire, Syra being the most powerful.” Drogo watched as she closed her eyes, leaning heavily on her cane. He dismissed her with a wave toward the door.

* * * *

Syra woke naked and in an unfamiliar bed, wrapped around Rhys. It felt like a herd of milk cows were running amok in her skull. Groaning, she flopped onto her back, unable to pry her eyes open.

“Not quite ready to face the day yet, my love?” A voice like thunder rumbled in her ear. Wincing she opened one bleary eye to see Rhys with his head propped up, looking down at her with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Not so loud.” The pounding in her head intensified with each syllable.

“I’m barely whispering. This will help,” he said, holding a goblet of foaming liquid to her lips. He didn’t give her a chance to refuse. Rhys literally poured the vile substance down her throat. Gagging and coughing, she tried to alleviate the burning sensation running down her chest. Falling back, she gasped for breath.

“I thought you said it would help me. That just about did me in.”

“You’ll be good as new in next to no time,” he cradled her in his arms and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I don’t believe you have a head for spirits, but with enough practice you should get better at it.” She felt his lips widen in a smile.

“I don’t want any practice, thank you very much,” she muttered grumpily.

“But you should practice … the things you do when you’re a little tipsy. Well, what can I say, they’re amazing,” he sighed ruminatively.

“What are you talking about?” she asked tentatively, looking at him, beginning to fear what she was about to hear.

“Last night you did things to me… Who would have thought you were a virgin only a few days ago? Had I known what delights awaited me, I wouldn’t have waited all these years.”

“What delights are you going on about?” she persisted, and opened her eyes fully. His dark eyes danced with laughter. Relief flooded her as she realized he was teasing her. She didn’t know whether she should beat him with the bolster or kiss his laughing mouth.

“So, you’ve been waiting years for me have you? You were too busy enticing a number of buxom women into your bed. You hardly even noticed me,” she said tartly, remember the variety of beautiful women who had warmed his bed over the years.

“I noticed you all right; I was just killing time until you were ready for me. Head feeling any better?” At her nod, he rolled her on to her back. “Let me show you some of the delights I have saved up for you.”

Parting her lips with his tongue, he wooed her with long, slow kisses. Seducing her gently, as if he planned to make a day of it. He aligned her body with his, and Syra sighed, wrapping one leg over his hip to bring him closer. She smoothed a loving hand over the length of his back, going lower to cup his firm buttock. The growing hardness pillowed on her belly sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

It took a few minutes for Syra to realize that someone was pounding on their door. She pulled her mouth reluctantly from Rhys.

“Break it up you two, its mid-morning. Surely by now Rhys has gotten enough practice, unskilled though he is,” Rorii’s voice declared.

“I’m going to murder him. They won’t be able to put him back together for a decent burial,” threatened a furious Rhys as he stormed naked to the door and flung it open so hard it bounced off the wall.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snarled at his grinning brother, who was peering over his shoulder to get a glimpse of a nude Syra.

Rorii wiggled his brows at Rhys, pressing his luck. “Caught you at a bad time, big brother?”

Rhys grabbed Rorii by the collar of his shirt to toss him head-first down the corridor.

“Wait! Wait! One of the girls Jory and Micah went after has returned to her village. They sent along a missive with the girl.” Pulling his shirt out of a distracted Rhys’ hand, he quickly moved out of reach. He tossed a small silver tube to his irate brother, not daring to come any closer.

Unscrewing one end of the tube Rhys drew out a small scroll. It was in Jory’s handwriting, informing him that the girl had no potential as an enhancer and had been left by the wayside to fend for herself. The other was a budding enhancer, so they were pursuing them. A telepath was riding with the party, so they wouldn’t be linking with him. They would send word when they could.

“Moonstones and enhancers … what the hell is Drogo up to now? Have the ap Syrrens left yet?”

“No. Siri is touring the caves with the preening Guildmaster, and Orren is torturing the hung-over twins and Ryder. The Nubrans are gone, but they left a gift for you. They were spouting some nonsense about you being a worthy warrior. If you don’t want them, I’ll gladly take them off your hands,” he offered helpfully.

Rhys’ eyes narrowed suspiciously at Rorii’s generous offer. “Just what did Mikel leave for me?”

“Nothing much, just a pair of those hybrids of theirs. You wouldn’t believe the stir they’ve caused in the stables. I could ask for a fee to allow the locals to have a look see.”

Snorting, Rhys shook his head. “Mercenary brat, you’ve been hanging out with Ryder too much. Tell Orren I’ll be down soon, I’ll need to have a word with him.”

Slamming the door in Rorii’s face, he turned to see Syra rising from the bed, making her way to the bathing chamber. The enticing sight of her pert ass made him sigh with regret.

“I heard; you should consult with grandmother about the missing girl. She closely monitors the girls who have been tested for a gift.” Kneeling in the shallow tub, she splashed hot water over her chilled skin. “I miss our tub at home; there isn’t enough water in here to keep me from freezing.”

Rhys was pleased she thought of Sorren as home. “Well now, we can’t have that. Allow me to warm you.” He muttered an incantation and the water began to rise to enclose her. He joined her in the suspended water to wash off the excess of the night. Syra made her own contribution by conjuring a large soapy sponge, and started to wash him thoroughly.

“We’ll need to prevent Drogo from taking any more of those girls, and secure all the trained enhancers as well.” Concern for the young women colored her voice.

“It’s going to get worse before this is settled, but there is no turning back now. I want to have a bonding ceremony if you’re willing.” Her nurturing washed over him like a balm.

“I thought we had to keep it form Drogo.”

“You’re mine, and my love. Nothing and no one is going to separate us. Let Drogo come, I’m ready for him.” He was unwilling to compromise any longer. He would secure a safe future for Syra and their children.

“I’d be proud to bond with you, Rhys Sorren, for I am yours and you are mine from this moment forward, on this plane of existence and the next.”

Reaching up she claimed his mouth, showing him the depth of her commitment. Lifting her so she could wrap her legs around him, he hardened as her hot cleft parted to rest against him.

“We could take this further, but without a wall to support us we’d fall flat on our backs. I’d hate to have to explain that to Rorii.”

“If he asks, send him to me.”

Laughing she disengaged from him and stepped into the cold air. The pink tips of her breasts budded as she backed away, wrapping a drying sheet around her.

Syra dressed in her cleaned leathers and quickly braided her hair into the intricate design indicating a bond-promise and her station as an enhancer. She quirked her brow at him when she was finished dressing as he stood waiting patiently, fascinated with her feminine primping.

“Shall we go give my parents the good news?”

“Not wasting any time, are you?”

“We’ll need time for the tailors to make you a pale blue velvet suit for the ceremony,” she told him.

“Sorrens don’t wear velvet, much less pale blue,” he asserted arrogantly. “We do, however, have our bonding ceremonies naked.”

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he ushered a sputtering Syra out of the room.

The Guildhall was filled with soldiers partaking in a late meal, or waiting for orders from their captains. Orren was seated at a table with Ryder and his sons. Storm was supporting his head with his palms while Seth pleaded with Lara to take his pain away. A plate piled with a rare roast, pink juices seeping from it, sat in the center of the table. Orren sliced into it, making Ryder swallow as he tried to steady his queasy stomach.

“Nothing like a full meal to start the day properly, boys. Let me have a servant bring you a plate,” he boomed, chewing heartily and washing it down with watered wine. “Drinking ale is not for boys, but for men full grown.”

He slapped Storm on his back, almost sending him across the table. “Buck up boy, you’re an ap Syrren. A few tankards of ale shouldn’t put you under the table.” Seeing Rhys and Syra approach the table, he beckoned them over. “Look at Rhys, not even a quiver. Strong as a bull; more’s the pity,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Ryder, see if you can find a server to bring me the same meal as Orren, but make mine rarer,” Rhys requested, joining them at the table. Ryder clapped his hand over his mouth and rushed to an anteroom off the guildhall. Storm and Seth rose quickly, mumbling about a forgotten engagement.

Chuckling, Orren rose to seat Siri as she arrived, carrying a basket filled with seedlings and bulbs.

“I’ve had the most interesting morning. Orren, I’ll be starting our own winter garden using moonstones as soon as we get home. The Guildmaster and I have forged an agreement, our golden wheat for fresh fruits and vegetables during the winter months.” Noticing Syra’s hair, she dropped the basket and hugged her.

“Darling, you’re to be bonded. I couldn’t be happier for you. We must start planning the ceremony.”

“Siri, Drogo is sure to retaliate. We don’t have time for that right now.”

“Nonsense. I’ll not have my only daughter’s bonding ceremony spoiled by that oaf,” she replied distantly, working out the logistics in her head, ready to plow over any objections the men might put in her way. “Syra, we must have your Grandmother choose the first propitious day. We will have it at Syrren, of course, a winter bonding. You’ll be beautiful in white velvet trimmed in fur and lace.”

“I don’t know, Mother. Rhys has refused to wear blue velvet for the ceremony, and I so had my heart set on it.” Facing Siri, she winked conspiratorially at her.

Siri turned pleading amethyst eyes on her future son-in law. “Surely you’d wear it just this once Rhys. After all, this bonding will be Syra’s only one. You’d want her to have everything she wanted.”

Rhys felt himself buckling under the unwavering stare of two sets of beseeching eyes. “Well, I suppose if that’s what she really wants,” he said, about to relent until he saw the mischief in Syra’s eyes.

“Sap,” muttered Orren. “You’re going to have to be stronger than that to have a say in your household, boy.”

“Careful Orren, Syra might want her father to wear pink satin. That is, if someone were to put the idea in her head that he would look so handsome in it.” Siri frowned at him.

“Now, Siri,” he spluttered, starting to protest.

“Don’t worry, Father, I want you to wear the ap Syrren colors and Rhys will wear Sorren’s. Mother and I will iron out the details,” Syra interrupted. “Rhys has news from his brothers that he wants to discuss with you.”

“We’ll need some privacy for this.” He called to a passing server, instructing him to send his meal to their sitting room.

Rhys quietly imparted the news to Orren as they waited for the meal to be set out. Closing the door behind the departing servant, he had Siri ward the chamber against intruders.

“Syra says your mother would be able to tell us which girls were potential enhancers.”

“Yes. It may be a good idea to take them into sanctuary to protect them from Drogo.”

“That’s a start, but will it be enough? We don’t know why he’s taken a sudden interest in these girls. If he takes a powerful untrained enhancer he could twist her enough to gain his own ends.”

“Enhancers are only as good or as bad as the man they are paired with. If the girls start their training now, they will be taught to guard against using their gift for anything but the greater good. It might be a good idea to teach them the spell Grandmother drummed into us after Orianne was taken, as an extra precaution,” interjected Siri.

“Orianne, I’ve been dreaming about her a lot lately.” A sad smile flitted across Orren’s face as he thought of his lost sister. Siri reached over and clasped his hand, sharing his grief.

“We’ll contact Mother for the names of the girls. The twins will see to the teleportation of the girls from Syrren to the sanctuary. The high mentors will see to the safe passage of the rest of them from the other provinces.”

“The twins. No self respecting parent is going to hand over their nubile daughters to your sons, Orren,” Siri laughed.

“My sons? How is it that they’re my sons when their ahh, rambunctiousness is mentioned?”

“That’s one word for it,” Siri said dryly. “You’ll have to send a trustworthy woman along.”

“Lara would be ideal,” Orren suggested. “Except I don’t think she likes traveling much.”

“Ask her, she might surprise you.” Lara’s aunt said, a knowing smile kicking up the corner of her lips.

Surprised at her mother’s statement, Syra lifted a brow in inquiry. “If Lara agrees to go, Rhys, could you send Leda with her? The ap Syrrens have no women among their guard,”

“If you think that’s best, I’ll send Morag along too. Let me know if there is anything else I can do. We leave for Sorren as soon as we assemble the men. Drogo is going to be plotting; we can’t lower our guard. Syra, meet me in the hall when you’re ready.” Nodding his farewell to Siri and Orren, he left the room.

“He makes you happy, Syra? You’re satisfied with the match?” Orren asked, his eyes searching for the truth in her gaze.

Sliding out of her seat to her knees before him, she took his hand in hers. “He’s everything I ever wanted, Papa. We have the beginnings of the bond you and Mama have.”

His heart full, he nodded. “Then a father can ask for no more.” Pulling her to her feet as he stood, he hugged her tightly and followed Rhys.

Teary eyed, the women shared a watery smile as they took a seat on the padded bench behind them.

“Mother, tell all me about Lara,” Syra begged.

“Let’s just say our rose is about to bloom. She’ll want to tell you about it herself,” Siri said. “Now, as soon as I get home I’ll consult Darreth. The men will want to put off the bonding. I’ve always felt we should pile up our happy times to carry us through the bad ones. So we’ll move forward as quickly as possible.”

“Could you find the time to come to Sorren? I need some advice on how to make it a warmer home for Rhys and his brothers. The castle has been without a lady for so long, it needs a woman’s touch.”

“I’ll arrange it with your father. Now we have to go, we have so much to do.” They collected Syra’s weapons and coat then joined their men. Leda was standing with Lara chatting amicably; just beyond them stood Morag di Mari, her jaw clenched, her hand fisted. She stepped forward and approached Syra.

“Don’t think you can get rid of me so easily. I’ll only be babysitting your little cousin for a short while. I’ll be back to claim what’s mine,” she whispered fiercely, knocking into Syra as she passed, heading down the corridor away from the departing travelers.

Syra sighed. The woman was becoming an irritant. A part of her wanted to ask Rhys to reassign her but her pride wouldn’t let her. She could find no empathy for the unrequited feelings Morag felt for her mate, what she sensed was an unhealthy fixation on Rhys. The sound of Sorren’s troops riding out of the city broke her reverie. She made her way through the crowd to find Rhys standing beside Rorii, engaged in a heated argument.

“You don’t need her here anymore. I’m linked to Syra and you to me; Lara is needed elsewhere.” Syra heard Rhys point out to his brother.

“I need her here,” Rorii objected.

“What are you saying, Rorii? Are you ready to claim her?” Rhys asked, growing weary with Rorii’s waffling.

“I’m not ready to claim anyone,” he said stubbornly.

A gasp behind them had them turning to see Lara standing not far away. Syra saw the hurt look in her eyes as she looked at Rorii.

“I don’t want your brother to claim me at your instigation, Rhys. I’ll be leaving with my cousins now. There really is no reason for me to come back here, now that the bond between you and Syra has been cemented.” Nodding distantly to Rorii, she walked over to her mare and mounted. They watched her ride out of the city, the twins on either side of her, Leda and Morag following them. Lara kept eyes forward, her back ramrod straight without looking back.

“Boy, you’re in deep, you’ve pricked the pride of an ap Syrren woman. They don’t forgive easily,” Orren said, sympathy in his voice.

“I’m too young for a mate,” Rorii grumbled defiantly.

“I met Siri when we had seen only seventeen summers, and there was no turning back after that first encounter.”

Rorii stared at the riders as they grew smaller and smaller, then he looked at his brother, his heart in his eyes.

“Go, I’ll leave Conn and his mate as well as Ryder. They’re strong enough to hold Straith if it’s attacked again.” He watched his younger brother race off to the stables for his firesteed, and realized that the boy he’d raised was now a man.

“I’d give a good deal of gold to see the merry dance she’s going lead him on,” Orren chuckled as Rorii galloped past them.

“Like the way I led you on?” Amused, Siri’s looped her arm through Orren’s.

“I had never been so nimble on my feet or so swift; it took only a fortnight to make her mine.” With that he swept a laughing Siri into her saddle and mounted his own horse. “Rhys, let me know how you make out with those hybrids of Mikel’s,” he shouted as he galloped down the cobblestone road, his troops falling in line behind him.

Syra stood by her mare waiting for Rhys. “Ready to go home?” he asked.

Nodding, she accepted his help in mounting, pulling up beside him as he gave the word to his troops to ride out.

* * * *

Sorcha marched unannounced into Drogo’s bedchamber, to find him sprawled on his back as one of his concubines serviced him orally. The disinterest on his face made the girl widen her jaw to take him in deeper in a vain effort to gain his favor.

“What is it Sorcha? I’m occupied, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I didn’t think you had noticed,” she muttered sardonically. “Bane would like to have a word with you.”

“So send him in.”

Sorcha gestured for Bane to come forward.

“My Lord, one of the ap Syrren cousins is on her way to the village of Bekham as we speak. I believe they are going to gather all the girls that might be gifted.”

“Would we be able to capture her?”

“No, she has the ap Syrren twins with her; as teleporters, they’d whisk her away in a second. However, if we could find out where they were going next we could be waiting for them, we wouldn’t give them time to react.”

“Take her. Dispose of the twins if possible. It’s time we lessened the number of ap Syrrens teleporters. They’re becoming an irritant.”

“As you wish, sire,” Bane backed out of the room.

Sorcha looked dispassionately at the girl struggling to elicit a spark of desire from Drogo. His expression bored as he brushed her away, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

“Sorcha come to me. I need stimulation.”

Moving slowly towards the dais the bed was on, Sorcha shed her robes, revealing her lush curves.

“Is this your pleasure tonight, Drogo?” she purred, moving sinuously to him, cupping her red-tipped breasts. “Or this?” she cast a transformation spell to become whomever he wanted. The ebony tresses became ashen blonde, black eyes to sky blue. White skin took on a golden hue and the full curves diminished to become a svelte loveliness. Sorcha crawled onto the bed to hover over him.

“Orianne,” he whispered achingly. Sorcha felt his hand tremble as it ran down the side of her cheek, in an unusually loving caress. The gentle stroke of his fingers changed into a cruel claw biting into her face.

“Sorcha, don’t play your witch’s games with me.” He snarled at her. She saw that for some reason her spell had angered him. He wrapped her long hair around his fist, tugging it painfully until she returned to her true self. Her head was forced down to his flaccid member; she had no choice but to cater to his desire and flicked her tongue out to swipe the crown of his inert cock.

She watched him, her eyes a hard green that never wavered from his as he came to life in her suctioning mouth. Stroking the underside of the now-erect length of him, she gripped him with both hands as she sucked on the head as if it were a teat. A self-satisfied smile curved her lips; the spell she had cast on him would only allow satisfaction when he was with her. Soon she would use it to bargain for her freedom.

Drogo twitched as Sorcha’s hot, wet mouth set a rhythm that was torturous; the vision of her bobbing ebony head and the swish of her hair across his thighs heightened his pleasure. Ramming his cock down her throat, he took his relief, spewing globs of cum into her welcoming mouth. Panting, he fell back on the bed.

“Leave me,” he ordered.

“But…”

“Now.”

Resentfully, she gathered her clothing and stomped out of the room. Slamming the door behind her, she ran down the stairs leading to her own quarters, and into the solid chest of Bane, who lurked in the shadows.

“Sorcha my love, I can feel your lust. You’re unfulfilled, if your pout is any indication.” Taking a lock of her hair between his fingers, he rubbed it between them. “I’ll take care of it for you, if you’ll only let me.”

“Stay away from me, Bane. I’m the king’s mistress and I like it that way,” she said, and tried to move past him to enter her chambers. Her loins throbbed painfully, making her irritable. He swung her into a dark alcove out of sight of the guards on patrol and shoved a muscled leg between hers, up against the moist heat of her dripping pussy. Covering her mouth with his own to stifle her scream of outrage, he kissed her deeply until her struggles stopped.

“Sorcha, I’m getting tired of waiting for you to acknowledge this thing between us.” Bane pushed her against the wall, using his body to anchor her suspended above the ground. The bulk of his prick lay heavy on the fat padding of her mons; she squirmed against him, only making her need worse.

“He’ll have our heads,” she said, fear overcoming her lust.

“He’ll never know; his obsession with the Sorrens blinds him to everything else going on in his kingdom.” Grasping her thighs, he pulled them over his hips and ripped his laces loose, setting free his bounding cock. He wedged it at her wet entrance, only allowing the large plum-like head to enter her.

“Tell me this is what you want,” he demanded, his pale eyes glowing in the dim recess.

“I can’t,” she whispered, wanting him to take her without her permission, so she could excuse herself.

Knowing her too well, he dropped her thighs abruptly, stepping back to tuck his unwilling cock into his breeches.

“Fine, come to me when you want to be loved and not used.” He turned to leave and was stopped by her soft plea.

“Bane, please, I can’t. He’ll give me to General Burus.”

Bane growled deep in his throat as he swung her into his arms and stalked across the hall into the shadowy warmth of her room. Settling her on the many satin pillows scattered on her bed, he stripped them both of their clothing. His gaze never leaving hers, he unsnapped the clasp that held the gauzy gown up and parted the thin strips of material to reveal the feast that awaited him. A raw lust ran through them as Sorcha caressed the velvety head of his rigid cock, reveling in the strength of it. Her swollen pussy was shiny, her juices dripped from her dampening the curls, seeping onto her inner thighs. Neither one of them wanted to waste any time on preliminaries. Raising her hips, he placed the fattest of her pillows under her ass, spreading her open, ready for him. In one forceful thrust, he speared into her, entering her heat until he could go no further.

Sorcha gasped at the sensation of having every nook and cranny crammed full of unyielding cock. It rocked her perception of what it was to have a man inside her, really inside her. Having Bane pounding in and out of her slick flesh had her convulsing around his cock; he was almost brutal in his taking and she loved it. She spread her legs further to give him a clear access.

“Fuck me good and hard, I need it badly,” she commanded in a shaky voice, selfishly using him to slake the thirst servicing Drogo always left her with.

He grabbed one of her bouncing breasts and stuffed it into his ravenous mouth, sucking on the red pebble. Sorcha twisted the other between her sharpened nails as he rammed relentlessly into her creamy center, sweat pouring down his back. The nubbin at the top of her slit came out from under its hood to brush against his hard pubic bone. Delighted at his tirelessness, she hung on to his taut ass, hauling him in tighter. Her breath came in short pants as her climax galloped to its peak.

“Bane. Oh Gods, Bane. More, more,” she screamed, the hard intrusion giving her just what she needed. Unable to hold on any longer, he flooded her with hot steamy cum. She shuddered as his release set off another orgasm. Panting, she pulled away from him, and rushed to her bathing chamber, kneeling over her wash basin to wash away the evidence of their lust.

“What, can’t wait to wash the stink of me off you?” Bane’s asked, and the disgruntlement in his voice made her irritable.

“Don’t be an ass, Bane. Drogo never fucks me. I don’t use anything to prevent a birth.”

“He’s never taken you?” His eyes widened.

“He prefers oral stimulation.”

“Well now, that’s food for thought.” His eyes narrowed. If Drogo never fathered a son… A blood relative could claim the throne if Drogo was ever incapacitated.

“Bane, that’s not public knowledge, so I can’t have it coming back to me.”

“Don’t worry, my pet. It’s not information one can use, just something that might come in handy in the future.”

Stooping beside her, he took the washcloth from her, taking over the job of freshening her. His chore completed, her lifted her, carrying her back to the rumpled bed. He drew her legs over his shoulders, not giving her a chance to object. He settled down to feast, for the night was long, and their time together might be short.