Chapter 5 #3
A shadow at the end of the alley stirred, and he almost jumped since he hadn’t heard or sensed anyone approaching.
“It’s me,” Syla said, walking forward.
“You’re getting better at creeping around stealthily,” Vorik said, not sensing her innate magic over that coming from the glassworks and the dragon perched atop it.
He thought over his conversation with Wise, hoping he hadn’t said anything he would be chagrined by if Syla had heard, and wondered how long she’d been there without him noticing.
Maybe she’d slipped in when he’d been bent over, trying not to cry.
“I’m seeing better in the dark lately, and I didn’t trip over anything on the way here.”
“Must be your dragon powers blossoming.”
“They can keep you from tripping?”
“Certainly. When was the last time you saw a dragon stumble over its own feet? Or wings?”
“It’s rare.” Syla clasped his hand. “I finished healing Tabuvar and came to see what you’re up to.
He offered me a room in back of the glassworks.
I think Tibby will be working for days, so we’ll have to leave her here.
In the morning, I want to find Teyla and make sure she’s all right.
I also long to ask her if she can tell me anything useful about what’s been going on here—besides her arrest. Her knowledge could be helpful. ”
“Yes.” Vorik squeezed her hand. “I’ve thought about suggesting that we could fly on Wreylith’s back straight into your castle and fight our way to the upstart usurper and take him down, but I can understand why you’d want to gather information first.”
“It is tempting to simply confront Lord Fograth, but even if we landed in the middle of the castle courtyard, we’d have to fight a lot of our own—my own people—to reach him. While having arrows and crossbow quarrels shot at us—and cannonballs fired at Wreylith. People would die. We might die.”
“Nah.” Vorik pulled Syla into his arms. “We’ve had lots of practice. We have to dodge arrows and cannonballs all the time. We even did it this morning.”
“It was harrowing.”
“I found it exhilarating.”
“But you’re odd.” Syla leaned into him.
“I am that.”
“So many of my people have died already these past weeks fighting the stormers. I want to avoid having more die. And, if I’m not careful, things could escalate into a civil war.
That’s not how I want to start my rule of the Kingdom.
Besides, even if we could fight our way to the throne room and stand before Fograth, I don’t have it in me to kill—to murder—him. ”
“I do. He’s a conniving, ruthless schemer who cares nothing about people dying.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“And yet I’m certain I’m not wrong.” Vorik caught himself noticing her curves and her warmth through their clothing and wondered if this alley would be a safe place to let his hands wander. Could he entice her into a kiss? Surely, with Wreylith so close, nobody else would dare attack tonight.
“I suppose not,” Syla said. “I don’t know him well, but…”
“Actions define a man. He stole your throne while your entire kingdom should have been focused on the external threat.” Since he was a part of the external threat—or had been—Vorik felt strange saying that, but it was true. “There’s no question that he’s lower than a snake’s balls.”
“I don’t think snakes have balls.”
“They do, actually, though they’re internal. And their penises are inverted.”
Syla leaned back to look at him. “You’re very knowledgeable on this matter.”
“Stormers spend a lot of time in nature.” Vorik shifted his arms to encourage her to lean closer again; he’d been enjoying having her chest molded to his.
“Especially trying to avoid being eaten by the nature. If a giant boa constrictor or mangaloran death snake strikes at you, it’s important to know how to kick them in the balls so you can escape. ”
“I’m… not certain you’re joking.”
“My life is interesting.” Vorik brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek and let his fingers linger. “Did you say there’s a room where we could… discuss this further?”
“I’m less keen to learn more about the subject of snake balls than you’d think.”
“I thought you were something of an academic. Every woman in your family totes books around like others carry water and snacks.”
“On select topics, I’m a voracious reader.”
“And snake anatomy isn’t one of them?”
“Strangely, it hasn’t called to me.”
“I can’t believe you think I’m the odd one.”
“Oh, I’m odd too. I always have been.” Syla turned her face to lean into his touch.
“I like your oddness. And having your body pressed against mine. Especially…”
“My boobs?”
“They are two of my favorite parts of your body, yes.” Vorik let his eyelids droop and his gaze drift to her mouth, thoughts of kisses lingering. “Your lips are also most magnificent.”
“Vorik?” she whispered. “Are you going to leave?”
He’d been halfway to touching his mouth to hers but paused. “What?”
“To go back and challenge your chief for leadership of your tribe?”
“Not right at this moment.”
“But soon?” Did she sound distressed by the idea? She’d once said she thought he would be capable of leading a tribe—probably more capable than he himself believed—but now that he was here with her, maybe she liked having him by her side. Maybe she wanted him to stay.
“I don’t know. I want to keep you safe and help you get your throne back.
” He especially wanted to keep her safe and caught himself tightening his arms around her, the need to protect her as great as his interest in her anatomy.
“You’ve been attacked twice in the short time since we landed. You’re at great risk.”
“You’d be at great risk too if you went back to your people.”
“I would be, yes.”
“So it would be unwise for you to do so.”
“Yes.”
“I think… you might feel compelled to try to help them anyway.”
Vorik sighed. She did know him well.
He looked in the direction Wise had gone and sighed again. “Yes.”
Syla wrapped her arms around Vorik’s shoulders and kissed him, a tinge of desperation making her grip tight, her body already aware that she might lose him.
When she’d come out to check on him and tell him about the sleeping accommodations, she hadn’t intended to spy on the second half of his conversation with Lieutenant Wise, but when neither had seemed aware of her peeking around the corner from the end of the alley, she hadn’t announced her presence.
It had touched her that Vorik had said she was wonderful, and it heartened her that he was the same person with his men as he was with her, but dread had crept into her when Wise had spoken of how Vorik returning and challenging his chief for leadership of his tribe could change the future for both their peoples.
Right away, she’d realized that he would feel compelled to attempt that, even if it killed him.
Even if it didn’t kill him, it would take him away from her. Maybe forever.
Tears threatened to flood her eyes as she kissed Vorik.
She didn’t want him to leave. She’d just gotten him, damn it.
Hardly any time had passed since he’d stuck a sword in Jhiton and walked away from his people.
But if he made the choice to return to help the stormers, she would have to let him go.
She would have to support him in that endeavor.
How could she honorably do anything else?
At first, Vorik seemed surprised by the emotion in her kiss, the tightness of her grip, but her intensity swiftly ignited his passion.
Soon, he kissed her back with equal fervor.
He pulled her against him with one arm while his other roamed, his strong fingers rubbing her back, then trailing to her waist and up her side.
Even through the fabric of her dress, his touch tantalized her, arousing awareness and exquisite sensation.
He was already aroused, something their clothes couldn’t hide, not when they were so close.
As they kissed, Vorik catching her lower lip and sucking, a wave of desire shot to Syla’s core.
She reveled in his touch, already growing breathless as she gripped and stroked him with her hands while tasting him with her mouth.
It crossed her mind to suggest the room, especially since wind gusted through the town, promising rain soon, but they would have less privacy in the glassworks.
And they would have to part long enough to walk there.
It was only a half block away, but as Vorik leaned Syla back against the wall, the hardness of the bricks capturing her on one side and the hardness of him on the other, she knew he didn’t want to stop for that long.
“The dragon watches the sky?” he asked as his hand shifted down her leg, pushing up her dress.
“She won’t let anyone… attack us.”
When his fingers brushed her through her underwear, she pressed into him, always eager for his attention, but she also wanted to give him a reason to stay. Even if she knew he couldn’t—shouldn’t—a part of her wished she could be so enticing that he wouldn’t be able to leave her.
She slid her hand to his groin, tracing the outline of his cock, grazing him through the fabric of his trousers. He thrust toward her, almost involuntarily, as if his penis had a mind of its own.
“Syla,” he rasped with need.
She kissed him again as she found the button for his trousers, then freed him, catching him and stroking him with her bare hand.
His heat was palpable, the pulse of his blood, of his desire.
He thrust into her grip again, groaning against her mouth.
When he lifted his hands from her to plant them against the wall to either side of her head, the muscles of his arms—of his entire body—quivering, she knew he could think of little more than how good her touch felt.
And she knew how to make it even better.