Warrian had been trained well over the course of several years. He’d devoted his life to the empire, protecting all within her borders. He had studied combat at the hands of masters, excelling in every task he’d been assigned. He’d been through countless battles against Raide, Dregorgs and Cyturs—all victorious. He thought he was prepared for anything this mission might have to offer.
He had been mistaken. He was not prepared for imperial boobs.
Pushing the empress out of the way of the truck, felling the Dregorg that dared to assault her—those things were supposed to make him proud. They were good and noble things that were meant to bring him satisfaction.
But he hadn’t expected that the press of her mouth on his would be even more satisfying, and that his satisfaction would have nothing to do with restoring her breathing. The deep sense of pleasure he’d experienced had come solely from feeling her relax under his body, from tasting her lips and from knowing that a small part of him lived within her now. It had only been his breath, given to ease her suffering, but even that could be his doom. There were no witnesses to her alteration of the law—no council approval. And yet he was going to touch her. Not only that, but he was anticipating it, savoring the idea of putting his hands on her royal person.
How was he ever going to restore his family name and wipe clean the stain of dishonor his father had left behind when all he could think about was getting his hands on the empress—the one woman he was legally not allowed to touch? If anyone knew about his deep longing to disobey the law, all these years of striving to live a good and noble life would be forfeit.
The best he could hope for now was ending this task as quickly as possible. He would offer a full confession to his commanding officer and pray that the man had also made some error in judgment during his own career—one that would make him capable of overlooking Warrian’s offense.
He found a sharp Imonite blade and sliced her shirt free of her injured arm. The fabric split open, baring far too much of her body to his gaze. She was even lovelier than he could have imagined, with smooth skin wrapped lovingly in the most tempting garment he’d ever seen. It was House Loriah blue, and cupped her breasts, both shielding them and offering them up in invitation. The gentle swell lured him in, forcing his eye to follow the sweet curve until it disappeared beneath shimmering fabric.
His blood began to heat, and his throat tightened around a spike of lust. He’d seen many other women before. Naked. He’d felt their bodies merge with his as he’d bedded them. But all memories of them crumbled to ash as a hot flame of need ignited deep within. He knew what the empress tasted like. He knew what she looked like with her hair unbound and free. And now he knew what she looked like beneath her clothing. Part of him wished he’d remained ignorant, while the rest of him was lurching forward, desperate to reveal even more of her.
Had he been a stronger man, he would have looked away, but the empress drew him in and made him forget his place. And his honor.
The dishonor his father had brought down on his family was more than enough to bear. His job was to restore his family’s honor, not destroy it irrevocably.
Furious with his lack of control, Warrian grabbed his cloak and covered her the best he could, leaving only her swollen shoulder bare. A dark bruise had formed just under her skin, and he could see the distinct outline of a Dregorg-sized handprint around her upper arm.
The joint was misshapen and…wrong.
A slow, simmering anger began to bubble within him. The Raide was their enemy, along with the Dregorg slaves they used as disposable soldiers. Warrian had killed many of them over his years of service, but never before had he felt such anger. Until now, the war had been his job. He obeyed orders, carrying out his commands with little judgment or feeling. It had been a logical, methodical process, driven by duty, not emotion.
Seeing the empress’s injuries, seeing the marks that Dregorg had left on her skin—that made a wave of fury rise up inside him, pressing dangerously close to the surface.
“How did this happen?” he asked, his voice creaking with anger.
“The Dregorg tried to pull my arm off.”
“It appears as if he nearly succeeded.”
“Great,” she groaned. “Please tell me I’m still repairable.”
“You are,” he assured her.
One way or another, he would find a way to mend the damage that had been done, even if he had to resort to human medicine to make it happen.
He pressed his hands together and willed his garala to life. “Please remain still. This may feel strange.”
Warrian pulled his hands apart slowly, watching as green strands of energy formed between the rings. He hadn’t used the device in this manner very often, but he’d been injured in enough battles that he’d had it done to him and knew how odd the sensation could be.
He also remembered the bond that this task formed—how he’d felt a bone-deep kinship with the men who had repaired his flesh. The process left him feeling tied to those men, like brothers. He would have done anything for them, at least for a time.
None of them called to him in the same way the empress did. She was like a flickering flame at which he could not stop staring. He wanted to get close and feel her heat, to bathe in her light.
He also wanted other things. Darker, selfish things. Desires of the flesh, the wet heat of her body as she accepted his manhood, the soft cries of pleasure he could drive from her. Those images danced through his mind, alluring and forbidden.
Once he was done mending her—once a small part of him lived within her for a time—he wondered if she would know his hidden desires. And if she did, how would she react?
Warrian told himself it didn’t matter—that he would deflect whatever gratitude or closeness she felt for him. He would remain himself, honor intact.
He laid the shimmering green threads of the garala over her shoulder, draping them carefully across her reddened skin. She sucked in a sudden breath, then let it out again as a soft moan.
Warrian froze. “Did that hurt?”
“No. It’s good. Keep going.”
He let the garala guide him, feeling the gentle tug of power flowing between his fingers. It pulled his hands closer until they rested upon her skin.
She closed her eyes and her head fell back to the cushion behind her. “You’re so warm.”
A single pulse of satisfaction beat through him, but it had nothing to do with honor or duty. It had nothing to do with his station or his mission. It had everything to do with knowing the beautiful woman before him had found pleasure at his touch.
As the garala worked, it pulled from him the energy it needed. He was used to the greedy tug of power that battle demanded, but healing was something he rarely did. He’d forgotten the toll it took on the wielder, that sharp, endless hunger the garala carved into one’s being as it consumed what it needed to mend flesh and bone. The sucking vortex went through him, leaving him shaking and spent, but he refused to stop until the empress was fully repaired.
Gossamer strands of green light cascaded over her skin. Her eyelids fluttered, and soft, sleepy sounds of contentment fell from her lips.
He stared at her mouth in an effort to distract himself from the ravenous demands of the garala. He wished he could feel her lips on his once more—only this time he would take his time. Kiss her, taste her. Thoroughly. He’d have her melting under him again as she had before, accepting him as if he were a man allowed such a treasure.
The image he’d cast in his mind nearly blinded him. It burned too bright, too hot, calling his attention from his task. He tried to shove the tempting fantasy away, but the glow was still there in the back of his mind, taunting him with things that could never be.
Warrian increased the pressure around her joint, trying to remember who she was. This wasn’t any woman. This was the empress, ruler of the ocean Loriah and the lands that dwelled therein.
He was a soldier. A simple man given a dangerous mission—one from which he was not likely to return alive. He would never rise in the ranks if he failed here, even if he was lucky enough to survive. This mission to return Isa and the other Loriahan children to their people was his one and only chance to make up for the blight his father had left.
He would not repeat his father’s mistakes. He would put duty before all else, before the call of the flesh. He would cleanse his family’s name. His future children would grow up able to hold their heads high, without shame.
Once he returned the empress to Loriah, his life would never again intersect with hers, which was as it should be. She would be a distant, glowing memory—a story he told his children.
The garala’s light faded, crackling and sparking until it sputtered out. Its greedy feeding ceased, leaving him feeling hollow and weakened. But the swelling was gone. Her joint was no longer misshapen. All signs of bruising were gone, even the handprint circling her arm.
He lifted his hands from her silken skin, trailing his fingers across her in an involuntary caress. His hands shook, shocking him. He tried to tell himself that the weakness was due to the strain of healing her, but he knew better. He’d been through countless battles, wielding the garala for days and his hands had never shaken before.
She did this to him. With her intoxicating warmth and soft sounds of pleasure.
Her eyelids trembled as if she were trying to open them but found them too heavy. Her words were slow and halting. “That was so much better than the ER. It’s like my whole body is shimmering from the inside.”
His cloak had sagged open, revealing too much skin. A rosy glow spread over her, leaving a flush across her chest and face that reminded Warrian far too keenly of arousal. She lay there against the back of the couch, sprawled and relaxed, a faint smile on her mouth, looking as if she’d just found the sweetest pleasure.
And he had been the one to give it to her.
Warrian swallowed past the lust clogging his throat. He was aware that using the garala in that manner could create artificial bonds. It could make people feel closer than they truly were. It could make a soldier forget that women of nobility were banned from them—a temptation that could not go beyond fantasy. Ever.
And yet, looking at her now, knowing he’d given her pleasure, it was easy to see a path where a warrior could act upon his fantasies, rather than the laws that held their world together.
She reached for him, her slender fingers trailing along his cheek. “You are so sexy.”
Warrian clenched his jaw in an effort to reject her words before they could sink in and become a part of him. He’d been with many women over the years, but never one who was so open and free with praise. Even before the garala had affected her, she’d been obvious in her perusal of his body. And the look of appreciation he’d seen in her eyes had made it difficult to remember his place.
“You should sleep now.”
She tugged at his shirt. “Come sleep with me. I want to snuggle up against you and breathe you in.” She buried her nose against his neck and dragged in a long breath. “You smell so freaking good.”
Lust tightened into a fist, nearly choking off his air. She had been through so much tonight. She was too vulnerable here, and he knew that had to frighten her. He wanted to wrap himself around her and hold her while she slept, keeping all threats at bay. Including her fear. But that was impossible. He knew if he settled beside her as she asked, if he let her wriggle close to him, the last shreds of his self-control would rip apart and he would take what she seemed so willing to give.
“I cannot,” he told her.
She gripped his shirt and pulled him down so that she was on eye level with him. Her eyes were a calm, tropical blue, drowsy and filled with need. She stared at him for a long time as if searching for something. He stayed still, letting her do as she willed.
And then she moved, closing the distance until her lips were pressed against the corner of his mouth, so hot and soft he nearly groaned with pleasure.
She kept pressing hot, fervent kisses over his tightly sealed lips.
“Open your mouth, Warrian.”
He shook his head, not daring to speak. If he got even a small taste of her again, he knew he’d be lost. He’d give in and take from her what she offered.
This was not her. This was the effects of the garala forcing her to act against her will. As long as he remembered that, he would remain strong.
Finally, after suffering through the torture of resisting the need to claim her mouth, she finally relented, sagging back onto the couch with a pout. “You’re no fun at all.”
“None,” he agreed. “I am the least fun person you will ever meet.”
She lifted her hands toward him in offering. “Join me, Warrian. There’s room on the couch for both of us.”
His cloak had fallen open, revealing the lovely flush of arousal painted across her skin. Beneath the Loriahan blue garment that cupped her breasts, he could see how hard and eager her nipples were, as if reaching for him.
He had never wanted to remove an item of clothing as much as he wished to cut that blue scrap of fabric from her body. And he knew if he did, she would welcome the invasion, perhaps even begging him to touch and taste what lay beneath.
Warrian stood there, shaking with need and indecision. He knew how much pleasure he could bring her. He knew how much relief from fear and tension he could offer. His hands and mouth could give her everything she needed without him ever entering her body.
But what if she demanded more? What if she wanted to be filled with his hard flesh? What if she wanted to feel the hot spurt of his seed within her?
He didn’t think he’d find the strength to resist crossing that boundary. If he gave in to her small demands now, he knew that the bigger demands she might make on him would be even harder to deny.
A small piece of him died in regret as he did what he knew he must do. He gathered her hands and laid them at her sides. “I will not lay with you. You must sleep alone, Your Imperial Majyr. If you still feel this way when you wake, we’ll discuss it.”
“Promise?”
“I do.”
“I’m going to remember you said that.” She let out a long, disappointed sigh and closed her eyes.
He wasn’t sure she would remember, but before he lost his head, Warrian tugged his cloak closed at her throat and pulled the hood back over her pale hair, hiding her completely. There was nothing he could do about the taste of her on his lips, and the way it sang through him in a riot of frenetic need, but at least his honor remained whole.
“Sleep now. The others will arrive soon and we will move to the window.”
“I’m not even going to ask what that is,” said the empress with a yawn. “That’s how relaxed I am.”
That was fortunate. The fewer questions she asked, the better. It wasn’t his place to play tutor, only to bring her back home alive and well so that she could perform her duties.
He would remain here and perform his, seeking out more of the Taken from House Loriah.
Now that she was covered, and he was no longer being licked by the flames of lust, he realized that the air in here was cold—too cold for her to sleep comfortably. He found clean bedding in one of the rooms where the other men had been staying and draped it over her. When he was done, all he could see was a mound of fabric covering her body, but he knew what lay beneath those layers. He knew how she sounded when pleasure suffused her body. He knew how she tasted, and how warm and smooth her skin felt beneath his hand. And that knowledge was going to haunt him, inflame him, and tempt him with impossible, untouchable things.
Warrian turned his back on her, shoving away thoughts that had no place on this mission or any other. Unfortunately, the empress was not as easily dismissed as he would have hoped.
He busied himself with his duties and pretended her pull on him did not exist, that he couldn’t hear her soft, sleepy sighs, or see her lithe body shifting beneath the covers as if seeking more heat.
After starting a fire in the hearth, he began patrolling the house, making a circle of the windows to watch out for the enemy. The Raide would come for her. There was no question about that. All Warrian had to do was stay focused and keep her safe until the transportation window opened tomorrow afternoon. A few hours and he would be victorious, his family’s name restored. That alone was worth far more than an endless night of misplaced, unspent lust.
Several hours later, one of the proximity alarms blinked, drawing his attention. Through the window, he saw headlights bouncing over the rough, rocky road leading to the house.
He knelt beside the empress, silently shaking her awake. “Gather yourself. We may need to flee.”
She pushed the blankets off, jolting upright. “What’s going on?” she asked, all traces of sleep wiped from her eyes.
“I am not yet sure.”
She gripped her puffy coat and leather bag to her chest, as if they could shield her from whatever came.
“You should crouch down and make yourself a small target.”
Fear made her voice squeak as she did as he instructed. “Will they shoot at us?”
Warrian stepped in front of the window. His garala sparked in eager anticipation of battle, answering to the hard pulse of blood running through him. “It is possible.”
“I should have gone home for my gun.”
“I am the only weapon you need,” he said, hoping to reassure her.
“What if we get separated?”
“I will not allow that to happen.”
“What if you get hurt?”
“I will still fight.” He recognized the boxy lines of the empress’ vehicle. Relief washed through him, quieting the garala. “Besides, there is no need for violence right now. It is Talan who approaches.”
She let out a long, relieved breath and rose to her feet, tossing her coat and bag to the floor. The blanket fell, followed closely by the cloak. She stood before him, nearly naked from the waist up.
“Where is my shirt?” she asked, rifling through the fabric puddled on the floor.
Talan had exited the vehicle and was swiftly approaching the house. Warrian rushed to the empress, digging inside the folds of the cloak to find her shirt. He’d just pulled it free and held it in front of her when Talan stepped through the door.
He came to a dead stop, shock plain on his face.
“Shut the door,” ordered the empress. “You’re letting in the cold.”
Talan hesitated momentarily, as if unsure of which side of the door he should be on when it closed.
“Stay,” said Warrian, hoping the other man’s presence would keep him from crossing boundaries, even in his thoughts.
Talan shut the door, averting his eyes.
“For heaven’s sake,” snapped the empress. “Are all of you guys such prudes?”
“I enjoy a half-naked woman as much as any other man,” said Talan, “but your half-nakedness is the kind of thing that gets men executed. So, not sexy.”
She jerked the shirt from Warrian’s fingers and turned away as she dressed. The sleek lines of her back disappeared beneath the garment, giving him no reason to continue staring. Still, for some reason, he kept watching her as she buttoned up and stuffed the bottom of the shirt into her skirt.
The sleeve he’d cut away fell open, draping to reveal her shoulder and arm. Gone were all signs of the effect the garala had had on her. There were no more looks of longing or heated glances. No more eager touches. The empress was once again herself.
Warrian tried to be comforted by that knowledge. Instead, all he could think about was how he’d missed his one opportunity to find out how she would sound locked in the throes of pleasure.
He shoved that thought from his mind and fetched the cloak. He held it out for her as she faced him again, being careful not to show any signs of regret on his face.
“Right. My smell.” She rolled her eyes, but put it on and sat down. “Okay. The two of you are going to tell me everything, starting from the beginning. Got it?”
Warrian stifled a groan. This was exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. Questions, talking… it was all going to create problems.
“What does Your Imperial Majyr want to know?” asked Talan.
She rubbed her temples in frustration. The folds of his cloak covered her hands, but even so, Warrian could see them tremble.
“My name is Isa. Both of you stop with the empress, imperial crap, or I’m going to kick you in the balls just like I did that Dregorg.”
Both men bowed their heads in obeisance.
Warrian wasn’t sure what balls were, but he had his suspicions, and he was certain he didn’t want them kicked by the empress or anyone else.
“Now. Start at the beginning,” she ordered, perching on the edge of the couch as regally as if it had been a throne.
Warrian glanced at the proximity alarms, willing them to blink. All he needed was one single Dregorg to attack so that he didn’t have to stand here, giving answers that he wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear. Those things were better left to the council—to those who spent more time thinking than acting. But as time flowed by in silence, it became obvious that he was going to have to give in to the empress’s demands. He only hoped that the answers he gave didn’t send her fleeing.
What waited for her on Loriah was far more frightening than anything she’d seen before, and he feared that if she learned this, she would no longer agree to come home with him willingly.
Of course, willingly or not, he would ensure that she went home. Her people were dying, and no one else could save them but her.