Chapter 13 #3
back and strode over to the pile of gear in which the Wolf had been
hiding. Her saddle was on top of the pile and she took quick stock
of her bags, pulling out her waist blade wrapped up in her belt and
strapping it on above the belt and blade Aleksi had lent her. She
took out a tub of healing balm and set it aside. She went through
Yago’s and Taweel’s bags and pulled out several days’ worth of
dried meat and cheese and dates as well as a wineskin and extra
tunics. She took her blade to a clean tunic and started cutting it
into strips as Aleksi dragged the Tall’s lifeless body across the
camp to the river, where he dumped it into the water and watched it
float away. He returned to the camp and pulled his flint out,
trying to ignite it, but couldn’t with only one good arm.
“Here.” Sahar stomped over and tossed a
wineskin at him. He caught it with his good hand, and almost
toppled from his crouch. She knelt down beside him and held out her
hand for the flint. “Let me.” She snatched the flint from him.
“Stubborn ass,” she muttered, getting a spark on her third
strike.
“Royal pain,” he grumbled, uncorking the
wineskin with his teeth and taking a long, slow pull, eyeing her as
she fed the growing fire.
He offered her the skin, and she took a good,
hearty swallow, then untied his belt from her waist, pulled his
knife, and shoved the blade into the fire. She stood and motioned
for him to lift his good arm and then pulled his tunic over his
head and down over his injured shoulder.
Aleksi took another long drink, capped the
skin and set it aside. He watched as she pulled his knife from the
fire, the blade glowing red hot. “Don’t slip and geld me.”
“If I geld you, you strutting stallion,” she
snapped, holding the fired tip over his wound, “it won’t be because
my hand slipped.”
Aleksi blew out his breath. Sahar pushed the
tip of the blade half a finger deep into his wound. His chest and
arm muscles bunched and twitched, and he clenched his jaw as sweat
beaded on his nose and forehead.
She swiped the sweat from her nose and cheeks
as she eyed him. She scooped three fingers full of the healing balm
and gently smeared it over and around the cauterized wound, her
nose wrinkling at the stench. One by one, she laid out the strips
of shredded tunic and began to wrap them snuggly around his
shoulder, tying them off with shaky fingers.
“It is not an easy thing to kill a man,” he
told her, his voice steadier than her hands as she wrapped the last
strip around his solid shoulder.
“No,” she agreed, her whole body starting to
shake now. “It’s not.” She tied off the strip and lifted her gaze
to his. “You’ve killed a man before?”
“I have,” he said. “In battle beside my
father.” He rolled his shoulder, testing the bandage, and grinned.
“You have skills.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Nobody has ever surprised me more.”
She sat back and licked her lips with the
same wet, hot little tongue she had trailed along his inner thighs
and cock this morning. A groan of pure need and pain escaped his
clenched jaw. He was injured, angry, and exhausted, but he wanted
her, here, now, even though the both of them were beaten, bloody,
and bruised.
He’d once thought if and when they had sex,
he’d be able to go his way and she’d be nothing more than a memory,
an exciting, maddening, once-in-a-lifetime memory. But the more he
discovered about her, the more she gave herself to him, the more he
wanted. More than wanted—he craved her fire, her passion. Which was
a problem.
Their time together had been limited since
the moment she refused his proposal of marriage, sooner actually.
Any chance of them being together for more than a passing affair
had been decided the days of their births. Their short, sexual
idyll was about to end. They’d be returning to her father’s palace
soon, and then Aleksi would return to his with enough gold pieces
and broodmares to start his life as his own man and find a wife he
no longer wanted. Not unless she had a thick, curly mane as black
as night that shone russet in the sunlight, eyes of green fire, and
purred like a cat at his touch.
He reached out his good hand and gently
prodded the growing knot on her forehead, willfully ignoring the
hardening in his breeches.
“I figure we’ll meet up with your rescue
party in two to three days if we start back tomorrow,” he said,
reminding them that their time alone together was coming to an
end.
She said nothing.
“I hope your father won’t think I’m
responsible for your injuries and kill me on sight.”
“My father would wait for an explanation
first,” she said. Then she grinned, slow and teasing. “It is
Brawn’s quick temper and even quicker blade that you should worry
about.”
Aleksi chuckled, glad to see her fiery spirit
returning. “Thank you for the warning.” He dipped his head, and
then he too grew serious. “What will you tell your father about
us?”
“The truth.”
“All of it?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation, and a
surge of pride welled up in him. “He’ll understand.”
“Will he?” In Aleksi’s experience, fathers,
and especially kings, were not as understanding of such things
where their daughters were concerned.
“You’ve heard the tale of the Lion and the
Swan.” She quirked her brow. “My father and my mother are known far
and wide for their story of forbidden passion.”
“Which ended in a respectable marriage.”
Her brow leveled, but she said nothing.
“Would he force you to marry me?” he asked,
not sure what he hoped her answer would be.
“No.” She shook her head. “Not unless...” she
hesitated.
“There’s a child.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
“If you do bear my babe, we will be married,”
Aleksi told her. “No child of mine will be born a bastard.”