Dishonored Part 2

She pa.s.sed one home after another without slowing, her head bowed. Jurel looked around in confusion as they pa.s.sed the last hut. He looked to the stables in volcanic fury.

"Where are we going?" he growled.

"My bed," she whispered. "It is not much further."

"They stabled you with the animals?"

Veltina laughed harshly. "No. The rooms above the stables were for older, unmated males. That would be the last place I would be permitted to lay my head."

He winced at the note of bitterness in her voice, looking to the stables as she turned onto a path into the woods below the cliff face. Was her bitterness in the fact that none of the males would have her or was the place she led him even worse? He shook his head. What could be worse than living with animals?

The trees thickened. Jurel considered turning back; he imagined an ambush waiting at the cliff face. That was a ridiculous thought. How could anyone foresee that he would ask this of her? That certainty and a deep curiosity made him go on.

She stopped at the wall of rock, swallowing hard, then stepped into a ragged cave.

Her gait was uneven on the scattered stone beneath her bare feet. She stopped, her back to him, waiting for his reaction to what she was showing him.

Jurel peered around the cramped s.p.a.ce in dismay. Her "bed" consisted of a few stained quilts set on dried Eir branches in case of rain. There was a small wash tub, large enough to soak the quilts but too small to bathe properly. A natural shelf in the corner housed broken bits of pottery and an abinatine that had been snapped in half. Reminders of her failure, he surmised. A few mended tunics and pairs of trousers hung on a peg hammered into a crack in the wall. A blackened fire ring and a quilt draped beside the doorway explained how she survived cold weather. The place was settled, not a short-term living arrangement.

"How long?" he asked.

"Since high spring... More than a year." She stifled a sob. "You see? I am not unaccustomed to the life of a slave, to being less than those around me. You are the kindest Master I have known."

"Get out," he managed, his voice shaking in anger. "Wait for me outside."

Veltina slid and scurried away.

For a moment, he fisted the torch in impotent rage. Then he moved, tearing the quilt and clothing from the wall and throwing them onto the bed with a sound of disgust. He grasped the wash tub and swept the broken mementos into it, pausing for a moment with the sheath in his hand.

"A first daughter," he whispered. "A commander's heir." Veltina had been n.o.bility, what the witches considered n.o.ble. They'd abandoned a woman worthy to be their queen for the crime of pa.s.sion. "Heathens!"

He dropped the sheath into the tub and lobbed the whole thing at the bed, throwing the few remaining articles after it-a single dining set and some rough tools. Jurel wedged the torch beneath it all. The Eir wood was dangerously dry; it caught immediately, and before he'd cleared the mouth of the cave, it was all burning.

Tears streaked down Veltina's face, though her expression verged on giddy disbelief. He brushed them away and led her back to her tower bed without a word. She looked stricken when he took the veltian away. Again, he soothed her.

"Tomorrow," he vowed. "I will bring it back tomorrow." He locked the chain to her wrist, stroking the pulse point in a show of affection.

"Thank you, Master."

Jurel swallowed a sour wave at her concept of a slave's life. He wasn't a barbaric Fion' s male who would deny her true nature as defined by the G.o.ds. He would never have made her live in solitude when her soul was made for companionship. He wouldn't allow her to think of him that way.

"You will learn to use my name," he ordered. "In private." For now. It would not do to appear too familiar with her at this time.

She met his eyes in surprise. "As you wish, Jurel."

Chapter Four.

Wos 20th, Ti 10-449.

*urel stared at the missive, reading it for the third time that morning. His mind argued that he should feel something, but he couldn't. J His father was dead, killed in battle by the head witch, Leiana. That should have made him angry, but every time he tried to envision his father's fall, Veltina filled his mind, and he ached for her, for all the time she spent at the mercy of such a leader.

He tried to concentrate on the many duties that fell to him as king, but only one duty burned in him-the duty to mate and produce heirs to the crown. That brought him back to Veltina. His heirs would be of her body. He would stand for no less, and the evidence of who she was in her former life proved her a most worthy vessel for those heirs.

She was in his soul, and he had no idea why she was. She was a delightful package of contrasts: a deadly warrior who feared his slightest displeasure, a s.e.xual innocent with knowledge and training better than the most experienced camp follower or bed slave he 'd encountered, a born leader who wished to be his possession.

He set the missive aside, fingering the rings on the veltian. "Gold," he murmured.

Yes. Now that his father was dead, there was no reason not to make her his bride. He' d intended to fill her belly with sons either way; this way, his advisors wouldn't try to saddle him with a political wife.

He smiled. She was a political wife, in her own manner. She was born and raised a n.o.ble. Once Fion's witches were no more, Veltina's land by right of succession would be his. He chuckled at that. What a glorious way to justify holding their lands to the Magden.

Jurel looked at the veltian again. He was certain that Veltina would willingly submit. Even if she didn't, she wouldn't be the first slave-bride in Lengar history. There were advantages, even to that.

Veltina- She sighed. It had been difficult to start thinking of herself as the name Jurel gave her, though he a.s.sured her that the name was equal to her pa.s.sion.

It was a pretty name, and she was proud that he'd seen fit to gift her with it. And when he said it while he claimed her s.e.xually... She purred in arousal, her body responding to the memories.

Jurel was an amazing man, and the Lengar culture was nothing like she'd been taught. They weren't oath breakers and rogues. They had a strict code of honor that demanded harsh penalties for slights. Thus Len oversaw his dungeons, not to house all of his followers, but only those who failed to live honorably-or perhaps honestly.

They believed in expressing the G.o.ds' given talents and ident.i.ty of the individual. They reveled in their differences, a fact that Veltina found wonderful and exciting. Jurel had made it clear that he believed it sacrilege to repress what the G.o.ds made you, and for that, he vowed to avenge her treatment, as Len demanded.

She learned that the atrocities she'd always heard word of were not commonplace practice for Lengar soldiers but rather reserved for Fion's Children. The Lengar found her culture odious, and having tasted theirs, Veltina found that she agreed more than she ever had. Her dishonor had opened her eyes, but she never had an ideology to express what she found wrong until she met Jurel. For that alone, she owed him much.

Though he seemed to feel discussing politics tedious, she'd managed to piece together a few startling facts. Chief among them was that the Lengar had not attacked unprovoked. Sometime in the annals of their long history, Fion's Children and the Magden had grievously injured the Lengar.

Lengar never forget! Until both races bowed before them, the war would continue unabated.

The door opened, and Jurel strode in, the strange cushion with the rings attached in his hand as he'd vowed it would be. He smiled, raking his eyes over the signs of her arousal, his c.o.c.k thickening behind his trousers. He set the cushion on the table and stripped off his weapons and clothing.

"I see you grew impatient," he noted. "Did you reach climax?"

Veltina tried unsuccessfully to hold in her smile. "Not this time," she offered in a seductive voice.

"Did you while I was gone from you?" he persisted. He pulled a vial of oil from the pocket of his trousers and anointed his c.o.c.k with it.

She wondered what it was, but he was too far away to attempt to discover it. "Twice," she admitted.

"Since I have seen you last?"

"Yes." Her cheeks heated, but she said it proudly, knowing he delighted in her s.e.xual appet.i.te. The more wanton she was, the more aroused he was.

He ranged hot eyes over her. "By Len! I will have to feed your appet.i.te for my c.o.c.k more often."

She gulped in air, dizzy at the thought of his c.o.c.k more than the two or three times a day he already brought her to bliss in completion.

"You like that idea."

She nodded.

"Good."

He eased a curved plate with a hole in the center around his oiled member, his face pained. His c.o.c.k jutted out, now surrounded by ruv coated nubs and two longer ruv fingers, top and bottom of the plate. She stared at it, wondering what it would feel like while he was inside her.

Jurel oiled the ruv. "When I finish with you today, you will be too exhausted to seek your own release."

A mad need to tease him seized her. "And if I do?" she inquired in affected innocence.

"I have other ways of tiring you."

He pulled something else from the trouser pocket, fisting it in his hand, then dropped the clothing to the floor. He set the cushion next to her, and she examined it in confusion.

"What is it, Veltina?" he asked, appearing unconcerned by her interest.

"It is- This is not the same cushion. The rings are gold. Were they not silver yesterday?"

"Indeed, they were."

"Does-this change mean something?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps."

Veltina took a calming breath. If Jurel meant to surprise her, the gift would be exquisite. If he simply felt no need to tell her his plans, it was his right to make that decision. It was not her place to question him.

Jurel was abruptly serious. "Vow it now-on your life and whatever G.o.d you choose to invoke. Vow that you intend to be mine and mean it."

"I am yours." How many times had she repeated that? How many times had she begged for it? Perhaps someday, he would believe her.

"On your life," he ordered.

"I vow it. I am blood of your blood." Soil to your seed, I hope. "I die without you. I will never harm you or bring you harm. I am yours." It was the most solemn oath she could make, though he would not know it. It was a portion of the mating ceremony of her people.

His smile returned. "Remove the skirt."

She looked at the tie nervously, doing as he ordered though she feared he'd strip her of every fine thing he'd given her, every outward mark that she was his.

Her heart stuttered as he unlocked first the chain and then the rings at her wrists and ankles. He couldn't free her! He vowed he would never free her. Even if he did, where would she go?

Jurel lowered his head, sucking at one breast while he pinched at the other. She fisted her hands at her side, wanting to touch him but having no leave to do so. Just because he 'd stopped binding her ritually during s.e.x after the first few days didn't mean she had his permission to touch.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against her skin. "Close your eyes. Do not open them, no matter what you feel."

She complied, groaning as he continued with his suckling. Jurel moved from one breast to the other, his fingers pulling lightly at the erect nipple he left. The sting on that nipple made her jump, her mind processing the fact that he'd placed some sort of clip on it. She squeezed her eyes shut tight to avoid angering him. The sting became a slight burning, a throbbing that radiated outward and was strangely pleasant.

His mouth retreated, and his tongue flicked over the captured nipple, sending pleasure so acute through her that starbursts of color danced behind her closed eyelids. A hurried pinch was her only warning that the matching sting and burn was coming. She cried out, the throbbing intensifying with the addition of the second device.

Jurel growled. "So responsive," he whispered.

His tongue flicked the second nipple, and she gasped at the sensations washing down her chest and abdomen to pool in her womb. Her fingernails bit into her palms, and she held herself firmly in place for him.

His lips brushed over hers, and she pressed close to him in an attempt to invite his kiss. He moved back, setting her away from his body in silent order to remain where he wanted her.

"Not yet. You want everything your former people denied you?"

"Yes." By Len! If there is much more pleasure he can give me, I might die in it.

"Then you shall have it. You shall have every pleasure."

His fingers circled her hood slowly, taunting her with more while he went back to sucking her nipples, increasing the pleasure until she thought she would surely climax from that alone. She leaned her head back, her hair tickling at her spine, feeling the pulsing beat through her body as she had when she'd been tied to the sanctuary floor.

He pinched her hood, and she gasped, forcing her hands not to move and her eyes not to open. Surely, he's not planning- Oh, please, he can't- Veltina howled in shock at the twinge that announced he had. His fingertips stroked at the exposed head, and she shuddered in her rising pa.s.sion. Whatever these devices were, they made her feel more intensely than she ever had. She silently thanked Jurel for blessing her with this experience.

"Mmmm," he purred. "I believe you are ready now. Open your eyes."

She did as he commanded, meeting his gaze, barely breathing at his hungry look.

"Look at yourself."

Veltina glanced down then gaped. Gold cuffs lined with black fabric circled the tight points of her nipples. A deep red blood bead dangled from each. She leaned forward, trying to view the final cuff. Jurel scooped the bead up, and she moaned at the slight vibration that raced through her.

He chuckled, a wicked sound that promised some wondrous treat awaited her. "What do you think of them?" he asked.

"They are very beautiful. Thank you, Jurel."

He licked one nipple and then the other. "And?" he prompted her.

"Wonderful," she gasped. "They make me-" Veltina struggled to explain the sensation.

"It makes you crave completion, and you will crave it as you never have before. As long as they remain, you will be wet for me any time I desire your sweet body. You will not remove the pleasure cuffs. Only I may do that."

She shook her head. Remove them? Was he mad that he thought she'd willingly remove these?

"Now, kneel within the veltian." He motioned to the cushion.

She knelt between the long arms, moaning as his body pressed to her back, his c.o.c.k sliding between her thighs and stimulating the sensitive hood outside the cuff, the ruv finger above his length pressing to her nether lips. She leaned forward, seeking greater contact frantically.

He retreated. One of the gold rings on the veltian snapped shut around her right ankle. Jurel touched her leg, trailing his fingers up her inner thigh and stopping only a hand width from her core. He pulled back, teasing her with what he knew she wanted.

"The veltian was dedicated to your namesake. It is said that when Len captured his first bride, she required-convincing to embrace her sensual nature. There are many ways to use it. You will know them all in time." The other ring snapped around her left ankle.

Veltina didn't hesitate, certain she knew what came next. She laid forward, placing her wrists in the last two open rings. She rubbed against the cushion, her nipples brushing the satil cover. Jurel leaned over her and snapped the last two rings shut. His fingers breached her body, stroking her inner pleasure spot.