Untouchable. Part 6

"This darkness, this part of myself I can't control, what else might I have done?" There was such frustration in his voice. "I could've murdered the princess..."

"You did not," she a.s.sured him again.

"I could've done anything." His eyes narrowed. "More than one sentinel said he saw me go into your tent on at least one occasion. I do not trust the Tryfynians, but I see no reason for my own sentinels to lie." He hesitated before asking, "Did I visit your tent?"

"Yes. Once."

Muscles in his jaw clenched as he fought to control his emotions. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you did not wish to know," she answered honestly.

He nodded crisply, as if that answer was sufficient, at least for now, and then he handed her the dagger he had retrieved before they'd run from camp. The weapon was well made and well cared for, but not at all fancy. He had cleaned it well even before trying to remove the blue from his skin. Surely he was as aware as she that this weapon had caused the princess's death. The sharp blade had sliced through her skin. A shiver worked its way through Sanura's body. She could see into people, not things, and yet at this moment the weapon in her hand seemed wholly evil.

She had never before touched a weapon, and she did not care for this one, and yet her fingers gripped the handle easily. Surprisingly, it was lightweight and more well balanced than she'd thought it would be. It was deadly, and forever stained with Princess Edlyn's blood.

"If I turn again . . ." Alix began.

Realizing what he was about to ask of her, Sanura gasped. "I could not!"

His hands were already marked, so he did not hesitate to grab her arms and hold on tightly as he stared into her eyes. "I don't know what I'm capable of when I'm not myself."

"Anything," she whispered.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, and she knew he was sincere, at this moment when Alix ruled and Trystan slept.

"You will not," she promised. She did not yet fully understand all that she saw, but she did know one thing without question. "When you change, when the darkness takes control, you are still present. You do not leave, you are not buried. The one who calls himself Trystan will not harm me because you, the one who calls himself Alix, will not allow it." She returned the dagger to him, and he reluctantly took it.

"I wish I could be as sure as you are," he said. "If I remain present at all times, why don't I remember? Why don't I recall visiting your tent when the other took me there?"

"Are you sure you don't remember?" she asked, looking inside him for answers. "Do you not know at the very core of yourself how I smell, how my skin meets yours, how I reacted when you touched me?"

A part of him did recall, though what he found within him was so primitive that what he felt could not be called recognition.

"When I snapped at Princess Edlyn, when I lost my temper," he said, "I was not entirely myself then, was I?"

"Not entirely."

"That I do remember," he said with a touch of sadness in his low voice.

"You are always there, and you can be in control. Perhaps you must fight for that control, but it is yours. You won't hurt me. You won't let the other hurt me."

"You would stake your life on that belief?" Alix asked with a harsh and humorless laugh.

"I just did."

WITH just the two of them on horseback, they were probably two and a half days' hard ride from Arthes. Perhaps three, since carrying two riders would be demanding for the horse, and they'd be forced to stop more often for the animal to rest. With the princess's entourage and conveyance they'd been weeks from the palace.

Anything might happen in that relatively short time. The darkness he battled might rise and take control once more. The soldiers and sentinels who were certainly in pursuit might find them, or at the very least force them to take a roundabout path to their destination, adding days to the journey.

Those who gave chase likely thought the accused murderers would race for the palace and imperial protection, and their search would take them in that direction. Just as well. Perhaps it would make sense for Alix to rush directly to his brother, but two things stopped him from heading there. First, Jahn would feel obligated to protect his brother at all costs, and that cost would certainly include war with Tryfyn. King Bhaltair would surely be willing to go to war over the murder of a daughter, even a difficult one.

Second, and most important, Alix was afraid of what the darkness might do to Jahn if the opportunity arose.

He had always been aware of the dark part of his soul. No one else knew of it, and no one knew that the times when it was roused were very often connected with his brother. It roiled when Jahn-or Devlyn, before their lives had changed so dramatically-got something Alix himself wanted. As children, when their mother had looked into Devlyn's face with such love and remarked on how his eyes were like their father's. As young men, when the girls all swooned over Devlyn and kept their distance from the other twin, as if even then they sensed his darkness. When Jahn had been made emperor, thanks to a few moments of life which preceded Alix's, it had stirred.

It had never before stirred as it had when he'd been asked to take Sanura to Jahn. He wanted her, but she was not his to take.

No, he could not immediately retreat to the palace. The first order of business would be to remove the stain from his skin and from Sanura's. That meant that instead of rushing toward Arthes, they turned back toward camp and those who thought them killers and lovers.

As night fell, they walked the horse through a dense portion of the forest. Alix led the horse, and Sanura walked beside him. Their steps were slow and cautious, as they could not see well in the deep shadows, and here and there limbs and low bushes impeded their path. The silence in which they traveled was companionable at some moments and strained at others. Alix did not have Sanura's gift for seeing into those around him, but somehow he did connect with her. When she was tense, he felt as if the air around him changed, as if it grew heavier and denser. When she relaxed, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and the air which filled his lungs grew sweeter.

He wished he did not want her. Wanting her had awakened the part of him he had always fought-always denied.

"We need to sleep, at least for a short while," Sanura whispered, as if those who searched were nearby and listening.

"There is no time for sleep."

"I can hardly put one foot in front of the other," she argued. "A few minutes. Please."

He could've continued on all night without stopping, but the woman and the horse could not. For their sakes, Alix grudgingly found a suitable place in which to rest. They had no bedding, but he removed his cloak and spread it out so Sanura wouldn't be forced to sleep directly on the hard, cold ground. They were both hungry, but they had found water and edible leaves during the day, so their needs were not critical.

Sanura reclined upon his cloak as if it were the finest mattress. She sighed and closed her eyes, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.

After Alix had tended to the horse, he lay down beside Sanura. The night had turned cool, so he thought it a good idea to share the heat of their bodies in the name of comfort. She did not seem to need the heat-her skin was warmer than his, warmer than that of any woman he had ever held. Even though her ankles and her worn slippers, which had not been made for walking, were exposed, she seemed not to feel the chill. Still, he flipped the end of his cloak over them, trying to offer some comfort.

He knew he should keep a distance from the sleeping woman, but his skin was already stained with the blue, and it wasn't at all easy for the paint she wore to transfer to cloth. It was an argument he would use in their defense, if it ever came to that. The only way that stain could've been transferred to the princess's blanket was if someone had purposely placed it there.

He doubted he'd ever have the chance to make that argument. He could not go to Jahn for help, and those who thought him guilty of murder would likely not allow him a second opportunity to escape. They'd be more vigilant if he fell into their hands again.

So he placed his body close to Sanura's and absorbed her heat. He placed his arms around her and pulled her body against his. She fit quite well. Exhausted and anxious and on edge, his body still responded to hers in an immediate and primitive way. His erection strained against his trousers, and he was acutely aware that very little stood between him and what he so desperately desired. A slip of cloth, a minor adjustment of their bodies, and he could be inside her. She was so soft, so warm . . . so gentle. Such was true of many women, perhaps even most, but everything about Sanura seemed more p.r.o.nounced. To touch her would be extraordinary, he imagined. He imagined too well.

She would require little in the way of seduction. There had always been an unmistakable attraction between them, a physical draw, and Alix was experienced enough to know the attraction was not one-sided. Unfortunately, she was not his to take.

He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her close, and the sleep he claimed not to need came upon him very quickly.

SANURA had never slept so deeply, so blissfully. The events of the previous day had exhausted her completely, that was the reason, she supposed. That and the fact that a man's strong arms held her.

She had never before slept this way. Even when she had belonged to a man, even when she had been possessed and treasured, she had not been held so. After s.e.x her man would need to be cleaned of the blue markings. She usually saw to the ch.o.r.e herself, which could be pleasurable if done correctly. There had been rare nights when she'd shared her bed with Zeryn until dawn, but no one had ever held her so close.

"You're awake," Alixandyr whispered in her ear. As he spoke, one hand slipped beneath her skimpy blouse and cupped a breast as if he owned it, as if she were his to fondle when and where he pleased. Her eyes drifted closed. When he raked a thumb across the pebbled nipple, she felt a rush of dampness between her legs, and her body instinctively swayed back and into his.

She had been taught to respond to a man's touch, and she did. For a while, a lovely while, she forgot her sad circ.u.mstances.She very gladly forgot that she was no longer at home, and she allowed herself simply to feel, to respond. This was who she was, who she had been born to be.

The morning was more dark than light, but it was most definitely morning. The day slowly came to life as Alixandyr brought her body to life with his hands. In the distance birds and small creatures of the forest stirred. She heard their distant chirping, their muted song, even the rustle of leaves as they scurried about. A touch of gray lightened the once black sky, but the sun had not yet risen to bring its warmth. She did not need it. The man who held her gave her all the warmth she would ever need.

Alixandyr pressed his hard length into her backside, simply and undeniably telling her that he wanted her. She swayed into him, she met his caress with enthusiasm, not shyness.

She wanted him. He was not hers, she was not his, but she did want him in a way she had never before wanted a man. As a female of the Agnese, she was required to please the man who owned her. As a woman, she had never been given a choice in the matter. Nothing in her life was progressing as it should, and it hadn't since she'd left her island home. But this-this moment was right in so many ways. For the first time in a long while Sanura experienced happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

Perhaps she was living this new life she'd been given in the wrong manner. Perhaps she needed to throw off all the old ways and embrace the new, the way Alixandyr now embraced her.

He had told her that his brother would not keep her, that he did not believe in owning another human being. What if the Emperor of Columbyana did release her? What would become of her then? Until now such thoughts had brought panic, but perhaps there was no reason for that reaction. If her new life included a choice, if she could pick her lover, she would choose the man who held her. She very gently rubbed her backside against his erection, and he gasped. She felt his tongue flicker against her neck, in a sensitive place where no tongue had ever before tasted her. She had told him once that she had no desires of her own, but that was not true. She did have desires; she had simply never before dared to acknowledge, much less welcome, them.

He slid one strong hand up her thigh and pushed her skirt to her waist, then that hand delved between her thighs and stroked, his fingers hard and insistent on her welcoming body. Her thighs parted to give him greater access, and he immediately pushed those fingers into her. She quivered and her back arched. The sensation was intense, and she felt herself spinning out of control-she who never lost control, she who was always the one to do the arousing. She caused men to become undone; they did not undo her. And yet that was how she felt. Undone.

He brought her to the edge and kept her there as the morning came alive. With his fingers caressing intimately and his tongue flicking here and there against her neck and her back, he commanded her. Just when she was about to climax, his stroke changed. He did that to her once, and then again. She remained on the cusp of bliss, of release, of paradise. He aroused her and kept her there until she could no longer think of anything but the demands of her body. Everything else was lost. She felt his desire for her, a desire as real as her own. That desire eclipsed everything else, and yet he did not rush toward his own pleasure. Instead, he focused entirely on her, on her body, on her needs.

He trembled. She felt that quiver throughout his entire body. It was as if he pa.s.sed that tremble to her, through flesh, through spirit. She did not know how, but he did share his desire with her. She had never been held so close, and yet she could not get close enough. Every inch of her skin was on fire, and inside she ached.

"Now," she whispered.

Alixandyr did not make her ask again. He rolled her onto her back and he was there above her, freeing himself and gently spreading her thighs wider. His hair was loose and had fallen across his face. He looked wild in his desire. He looked as frantic and lost in need as she felt.

For a fleeting moment, Sanura wondered if the man above her was Alixandyr or Trystan. In body they were one and the same, she realized that, but they were also very different men in many ways. Trystan would likely not have bothered to arouse her so beautifully. Trystan would've jumped on her like an animal; he would not have waited for her whispered "Now."

And still she wished she could see his eyes. The dark of morning and his fall of hair and the way his eyes narrowed worked against her.

She was slick and trembling, more than ready for the thrust that filled her. Immediately her body responded to their physical bonding. A moan escaped from her parted lips, and the moan was followed by a scream as she quickly found the release she so desperately needed. No physical act had ever been so intense. No release so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes. Her body jerked and trembled, and the release continued. Her legs caught and held Alixandyr's hips, as she lifted her hips from the ground and reached for all he had to give.

He continued to move inside her, more gently now that her climax had faded. He was of an impressive size, and she enjoyed the stroking, the joining, the bond they had created.

Now it was her turn to pleasure Alixandyr, to show him what she could do. There were tricks and ointments and magical potions which could be called upon, but she needed none of them. Instead, she gave all that she was to the man who loved her. He was inside her in more ways than he knew, and he spoke to her without words. Where did he wish to be touched? Did he wish for her to move quickly or with torturous slowness? Did he wish her to be pa.s.sive or aggressive? If he secretly longed to hear words of love, she would deliver them. If he wished her to take command, she would.

She gathered her wits and concentrated on the man who was inside her, moving in and out with such delicious leisure. What did he most desire? What could she offer him which would take him to new and more blissful heights than he had ever known before?

His rhythm did not change, but hers did as the truth hit her. She faltered a little, her heart stuttered. The man who was inside her possessed the most primitive of desires. He would've roughly taken what he wanted from her, as she had known he was capable of doing, but another part of him would not allow him to hurt her, not in any way, and he was well aware of that. In order for him to remain in control, he had, by necessity, been very careful not to hurt her.

"Trystan?" she whispered.

"Yes," he responded. "Did you know all along it was me?"

"Of course I did," she lied. "Did I not tell you that you would have what you wanted from me if you saved us?"

"You did."

"Do you think me a woman who makes false promises? "

"Everyone makes false promises."

"I do not," she replied.

"If that is true, you are a rare woman indeed."

Sanura wanted to push him off of her, out of her, but she did not. Not only would it be impossible for her to physically overpower him, but she realized that Alixandyr was inside her almost as much as Trystan. It was he who kept her safe, he who was still in control in some very basic ways, though he was not at the surface in this moment. She contracted her inner muscles and swayed against the thrusts, and the man above her responded by moving faster, by giving himself over to desire just as she had. Her hands skimmed his body and found an unusual but potent erogenous patch of skin on his hip. Her fingers pressed gently and then made small circles. Again he responded, and she felt the control he held so fiercely loosen.

She knew how to make a man hers; she knew how to make a man fall apart in her arms and in her bed, even if that bed was nothing more than a borrowed cloak on a patch of hard ground. The man above her would've found his own release moments ago if he was not working so hard to maintain control. It distracted him. It kept him off balance. She took advantage of that weakness, arousing him to the point where he had no control.

When Trystan was right where she wanted him, Sanura reached up and took a handful of black hair in her hands. She held on tight and pulled his face closer. "I want Alixandyr, " she whispered huskily.

"No." The answer was a gruff whisper.

"Yes. I see so much of you now, Trystan, when you are within me and your precious control is on the brink of cracking into a thousand pieces. You are not so strong after all. You are still nothing but a shadow. Alixandyr is a man. Alixandyr is the one I desire. Give him to me."

"Alix is a shadow of a man who will not take what he wants. That's why I'm here. You brought me out, Sanura, you and your forbidden body."

Recognizing that to be true, she experienced a wave of guilt she quickly brushed aside. "Now that you have had me, will you be sent into the depths again? Will you once again sleep, unable to rise to domination? Once you have all that you want of me, will you disappear? Will giving over to me send you to oblivion?"

Apparently he had not thought of that, and while she knew little of Trystan, she understood that he wanted permanent control more than anything else he could imagine. His body jerked, and in the faint morning light Sanura saw the change in his eyes as he once again became the man she truly desired.

She sighed in relief, not only at the sight of those eyes but also at the new rush of sensations she drank in. Alixandyr was kinder than his counterpart, more complicated but also more n.o.ble. He was a man worthy of loving, and while he was surprised to awaken in such a position, it did not take him long to recover and continue. After a pause of sorts, he drove deep within her and resumed the rhythm that would carry him to completion. Heaven knows, she was close enough to finding yet another release, and now that she knew who touched her, she could relax and enjoy the sensations dancing in her body.

Alixandyr was hers in a way Trystan could never be. He cared for her. He wanted the release, the pleasure that all men wanted when they joined with a woman, but he wanted more, so much more. He wanted to hear her scream and feel her body jerk beneath his. He wanted to feel the flush of her skin and watch the transformation that would come over her when she found that release.

She needed no tricks, no special maneuvers. Not now, not in this place. She gave Alixandyr what he wanted; she climaxed once again, and this time he came with her. Their bodies sweated and shuddered in time, their hearts pounded a rhythm that drowned out the sounds of the morning. Once again, she screamed.

In the faint morning light, she placed a hand in her lover's hair. Yes, he remained Alixandyr, but for how long?

He should be happy, but was not. "Sanura," he whispered against her shoulder. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." She soothed him with a gentle hand in his hair. "You did not."

"What happened?"

"You seduced me."

He gave a harsh laugh as he lifted his head. She was so very happy to see those pale green eyes.

"I've never before seduced a woman and forgotten. It was the other, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"So why did I...why didn't he stick around to the end?"

She smiled and ran her fingers down a blue cheek. He was now almost as blue as she. "Are you asking why he left before you got to the best part?"

"Yes."

"Because I asked for you."

Alixandyr moved off of her and she sat up, taking a moment to rearrange her clothes so that she was at least partially covered. Her costume had not been made for modesty, and their frantic encounter had not helped matters at all. She was beyond disheveled.

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you ask for me?"

"Do you really need to ask that question?" She studied her arms. Thanks to all the sweating and holding that had been going on, she was in desperate need of a touch-up.

He sighed. "I suppose not."

He straightened his clothes, taking a moment to bemoan the fact that his c.o.c.k was blue. Holding back a laugh, she had to point out that wasn't entirely true. He had a mere smudge of blue on his p.e.n.i.s, that was all. Though their words were inconsequential, she felt the real pain beneath the banter.