Tree sprite, p.8
Tree Sprite, page 8
Roland dozed, careful of the woman at his side. She felt right, cuddled next to him. She unconsciously stroked his flank with her face and hair as she moved slightly, her hands coming to rest in the ticklish spot just where his wing met his body, but he didn’t move. He liked the feel of her small, gentle hands on him. Perhaps too much.
He became aware of warmth seeping from her into him that should not be. Taking quick stock, he realized she was reaching out to him with her healing ability, even in sleep.
Lana, sweetling, wake up. You have to stop trying to heal me. I don’t want you wearing yourself out on my account. It could be dangerous.
“What?” Her voice was drowsy, still half-asleep as her hands subtly stroked him.
Pull your power back, little one. Do not expend your healing energy like this.
“But I’m not doing anything.”
You are. I feel it, Lana.
“No.” She faced him, coming out from under the shelter of his wing to meet his gaze. “I feel no power drain.”
But I feel your heat. The heat of your healing power.
“That can’t be.”
Roland remembered then, a legend of his family. It didn’t seem possible that this little, unexpected woman could hold the powers his family had thought lost for generations, but then, stranger things had happened since he’d flown north. This would require a great deal of thought on his part and he didn’t want to trouble her with the magnitude of the discovery until he was certain.
It’s all right, sweetling. Go back to sleep. I must have been mistaken.
She moved back under his wing, settled back against him and was soon asleep. Roland watched carefully, gauging the energies flowing once more from her to him and back again. He knew then he wasn’t mistaken. Relaxed and out of immediate danger, they were feeding off each other in an endless loop. Neither would suffer ill effects from this kind of innate healing, or so the legends held. This was a rarity among rarities. No pair had formed this kind of bond in centuries, but it seemed this big-hearted, self-trained healer was doing so. It was a miracle. Or perhaps, he thought with a dragonish snort, it was magic.
Will this Elven warlord be conquered by lust?
Lords of Ch’i
(c) 2006 Ciar Cullen
Available August 8th, 2006 at Samhain Publishing.
Cast out by an usurper to her clan’s throne, warrior Silver SanMartin throws herself at the mercy of her compelling enemy, Jet Atraud. The sexy warlord rules his Elven clan with an iron fist, but Silver finds she lords some power of her own. Jet can’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off his lovely captive.
In a battle to gain self-control and maintain his ten-year oath of celibacy, Jet tries to focus on the task at hand—conquering the enemy clans. Despite his strong will and best intentions, Jet cannot ignore his growing love for Silver. But can a sworn enemy be trusted?
Silver looked up again, and a shock of electricity ran through her at Jet’s intense stare. He looked from her eyes to her lips, and let his gaze wander to her breasts, pushed high by her gown. His eyes burned as she he assaulted her senses.
“You’re rather strong-willed, Silver. I don’t buy your apology for a second. And I think I rather fancy that about you. You’ll make a good bodyguard. What do you think of the gown? It’s been in my family for many generations.”
“Lord?”
“Yes?” He continued his sexual appraisal of her and her breathing quickened in longing. She let her gaze wander down his smooth stomach to his rigid cock, straining against the black silk wrap. Surely he can hear my heart, it’s so loud.
“Do you like what you see, Silver? You can’t seem to pull your gaze away for long. Do you know the whole time we’ve spoken, the whole time you’ve cried over the conflict and your brother, you’ve filled the room with your lust. You’ve stared at my mouth and my chest, my stomach, wondering how it would feel, how it would be between us. Am I wrong?”
“You are quite wrong, Lord.”
He laughed a little and motioned her to come closer. “I’d like a closer look at you in my ancestor’s garb. You must admit, it suits your figure, which is…” Jetre took in a quick breath. “Adequate.”
“Adequate? My figure is adequate? Why are we discussing my body? Your oath, your…”
“Have I broken my oath, Silver?” He worked his fingertips from her collarbone across the swell of her breasts. His touch blazed a fiery trail across her skin and his energy seeped into her veins. Which burns, she wondered—the touch of an elf or the touch of a lord? He slowly unfastened the clasps of her dress until he exposed her breasts. His calloused fingers and palms brushed across her skin like a kiss as he cupped one breast in each hand. His moan stirred her to quivering. He caressed her as if he’d found a priceless treasure he’d sought for a lifetime. Silver fought the sensations he evoked, but surrendered and cried out when he rubbed his thumbs on her nipples.
“Jetre.”
“Yes?” He continued his slow circles. “You find this unpleasant? Should I stop?” Jetre looked at her from beneath his dark lashes as he leaned in to suckle on one breast. His hot mouth assaulted her senses, his tongue darting across her nipple, his lips pulling and pinching. A low groaning sound came from far away, and Silver realized in shock it was her moan, her lust filling the air. She laced her hands in an errant strand of his luxurious hair and pulled it towards her face, smelling his scent—dark spices and male magic. When he moved to her other breast, the new pleasure sent her to the brink of orgasm, and he kept her hovered there for minutes. He broke away suddenly and looked into her eyes.
Silver panted, aching, throbbing, ready to push him to the ground and assault him. “You’re no virgin.”
“How dare you. Do you understand how you insult me, Warrior?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you what I think right now if my life depended upon it.”
Jetre arched a brow. “It will come to you.”
Silver’s hands shook at the conflicting, overwhelming emotions consuming her. This man, this gorgeous man, her sworn enemy, now her master—was he seducing her? No, simply playing with his prisoner. No more, certainly. A tiny dagger of regret pierced her heart. Silver shuddered, the memory of his mouth on her still making her tingle, still making her throb and moist and ready.
What I wouldn’t give to lay with him, to feel him inside me… She cursed to herself. Too late, he heard it.
“Tell me, let me hear what you want.” His voice grew low and languid, his eyes nearly hidden beneath his black lashes. “Tell me what kind of lover you imagine me? What draws you? My look? My manner? Or my power?”
All of those. None of those. Don’t let him hear any more. Thoughts poured out, desire and longing overwhelming her, betraying her.
You’re the most beautiful creature. Take me now or leave me be. I don’t want to feel this way.
“Yes you do.” His voice was such a low whisper Silver thought she might have imagined hearing him speak.
Jet sat up straight, eyes now wide, spell broken. “I’m not one to take advantage of my position with a woman, with anyone. You aren’t required to placate me in a sexual way.” Jetre snorted. “Perhaps that’s only my ego. I couldn’t stand the thought of forcing myself on a woman. I’ve always assumed no woman would reject me, which is quite disturbing. Perhaps you don’t want me?”
Silver groaned. “Don’t mock me, Lord, you read my thoughts clearly enough. It’s bad enough that I’ve betrayed my kind. Don’t make me betray myself.”
Jetre ignored her words and stood, pulling the cord from his hair.
That’s his way? Play with me for a moment, send my world reeling, and dismiss me like a scrap of garbage.
“You’ll help me dress now, and we will eat and drink with the soldiers and their families. I intend to speak to the crowd of your presence here. Some of it will annoy you, badly, especially when I speak of your brother. Try to show restraint. Understood?”
“Yes, Lord.”
He turned and nodded. “Silver, in private, you may call me Jet. I’m a little less formal than most of the lords.” He held out a finger. “In private, mind you.”
She nodded. “Jet.” She tested the nickname on her tongue.
“One thing.” Jetre turned away again. His voice was quiet and Silver struggled to hear him. “Was it right? Did it feel right, what I did? When I kissed your breasts?”
It was the last question she expected from him, the most amazing thing. The great Lord Jetre, wondering if he had given her any pleasure. How to answer him?
“Because my ten years end in a matter of days.” He pushed his hand through his hair and laughed at himself. “I don’t want it said the oath made the lord incapable. How embarrassing. Is this your nature—to bring out the inner truths of a person?”
“How will I protect you from the women who will storm your quarters when your oath is complete? They’ll be more dangerous than Fire and Metal combined against you.” And how will I bear to watch it?
Jet laughed. “As appealing as that picture might be, I must pick only one. The second part of the deal.” He shrugged.
“I see.” A small knife poked at her heart unexpectedly. No doubt the woman would be Wood and was probably already betrothed to the lord. An elf, of course.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Jet toweled down and Silver turned away. From the corner of her eye she saw him step into his dark leather pants and pull on a thin, collarless, long-sleeved, black shirt. He went to the dresser and placed a kohl stick against each eye, blinking and wiping the excess from his cheeks.
“The woman will be quite fortunate, Jet. I hope that satisfies your ego.”
He inclined his head and smiled very subtly. “It does. Might I practice on you again some time?”
Silver closed her eyes. The pain came in very faintly, like the smell of a coming summer rain shower on the breeze. She wanted her sworn enemy, and she meant nothing to him. A plaything, a practice toy. Well, there are worse fates than being the whore of such a man.
He pointed to his tall boots and Silver brought them to him, helped him push into them.
“You did something terrible to me when you branded me, Jet. I know you did. You say you wouldn’t force a woman, but you charmed me in some way.”
Jet looked up at her, puzzled. “Nonsense.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jet pointed to the dresser and his heavy, white-gold pendant, the Wu Xing symbol of his clan, the symbol of the Way of Ch’i. Silver brought it to him and fastened it around his neck. She bit back thoughts of Kilé and how she had fastened his pendant many times.
“Not many call me a liar without punishment. If Jaine or Art were here, you’d already be bleeding.”
“Yes, my lord. Based on my brief encounter with your formidable sister, I believe you.”
“Now my hair.”
“What about it?”
“Brush it.” He rolled his eyes at her.
“This is fucking awful, Lord.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Silver went to the dresser, grabbed a brush, and pulled a cushion behind Jetre’s. She brushed his beautiful hair, wishing she could bury her face in it.
He turned suddenly and grabbed her by the neck. “I heard that.”
She cried out softly, even though he didn’t hurt her.
“They’ll have to wait a few minutes more.”
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
It’s all about the story…
Action/Adventure
Fantasy
Historical
Horror
Mainstream
Mystery/Suspense
Non-Fiction
Paranormal
Red Hots!
Romance
Science Fiction
Western
Young Adult
http://www.samhainpublishing.com
Bryce, Brenda, Tree Sprite
