by Dara Joy
“I hear you.” Alert, Traed watched the play very carefully from behind Rejar’s shoulder.
The Familiar possessed a clear head and a remarkable memory. He was able to make dispassionate judgments quickly and soundly. Consequently, several rounds went his way.
However, Rotewick was also an excellent player. He, too, possessed a certain lethal skill for the game.
As the night progressed, wins and losses going back and forth between the two of them, the stakes began to escalate rapidly. It wasn’t long before the men were wagering upwards of twenty thousand pounds a hand.
Word spread quickly and patrons crowded around the table to watch the exciting match. As the stakes grew, so did the animosity between the two men. Rejar remained cool and contained. Rotewick, however, began to jeer at the younger man in an attempt to throw him off stride.
“Your wife is quite a pretty little thing; although I must admit she never interested me much. I have a more sophisticated palate, so to speak. The suit is diamonds.”
Rejar lifted his sights from the cards to capture the man in his steely regard. “Your throw,” was all he said.
Rotewick discarded in a seemingly careless move. “Of course, now that she’s been broken in, one can’t help but wonder what kind of ride she delivers.” Several of the spectators sniggered at the crude innuendo.
Traed’s hand went to the light saber in his waistband. Jackie’s hand on his arm forestalled him.
A muscle ticked in Rejar’s jaw. He said nothing, throwing his card onto the table.
“Smooth or in the rough style?…Thirty thousand.” A gasp went up from the onlookers at the enormous bet. Rotewick discarded with a flourish of lace.
Rejar calmly matched his bet, also discarding.
A speculative demeanor graced Lord Rotewick’s face. He hadn’t expected the Prince to match his bet. The man had more mettle than was healthy for him. How far would the young blade go? he wondered.
“Now let me see…” he tapped his pointed chin as if entertaining a mildly interesting thought. “For this next wager, perhaps a diversion for her Highness?”
The area went silent.
What would the Prince do? It was not unknown for men in the heat of gambling fever to make outrageous bets. Would he accept? Would he offer up his lady’s services?
Rejar’s dual-colored eyes pinned the man to his chair with a predatory intensity. Just seeing the look on the Prince’s face made several of the onlookers squirm nervously. He was likened to a wild animal preparing to spring. In contrast, when he spoke, the measured voice was chillingly low.
“I will rip the heart out of any man who seeks such a diversion with my wife.”
By the man’s savage intensity, no one doubted it. To say the Prince did not take well to the idea was an understatement. The man looked ready to kill.
The corners of Traed’s lips twitched. Rip out his heart? Familiars could be so excessive.
The last thing Traed needed was an enraged Familiar defending the honor of his mate. It would take days to clean up the mess.
He bent over, speaking quietly in his brother’s ear. “Come, Rejar; a slice across the throat with the saber is that much easier.”
Traed’s ploy to lighten the tension worked.
Smiling faintly, Rejar glanced at his brother behind his shoulder. {But not as much fun.}
Traed nodded sagely. “True.”
Turning to face his adversary across the table, Rejar spoke in a bored mien. “What is your wager? You are wasting my time.”
Lord Rotewick’s face flushed with anger. No one spoke to him that way. No one. The man was as good as dead. “So I won’t be wasting your time—fifty thousand pounds.”
A murmur of disbelief raced through the crowd. Fifty thousand pounds! Would the Prince match it? Could he match it? He did not have enough counters before him to cover it.
Rejar lifted an imperious hand, signalling the proprietor for paper, pen and ink. Traed’s eyes widened. Rejar could not write in this language—what was he doing?
Rejar took the quill, dipped it into the inkwell, and scribbled something across the page. He threw the scrap of paper onto the table. Rotewick picked it up.
“What the devil does this say?” He held the paper up, facing it towards Rejar’s side of the table. No one could make heads or tails out of the elaborate swirls and symbols.
Except one man.
Surprising everyone, the Prince’s taciturn brother burst out laughing.
Blinking innocently, Rejar stated, “It says that in the event I lose, I owe you fifty thousand pounds.”
That was not what it said. The Aviaran words were quite explicit in instructing the man what he should do with a prautau beast.
Rotewick turned to the proprietor. “Is this acceptable?”
The proprietor was not about to offend a prince. Especially such a well-placed prince as this. He quickly gave his approval. “It’s more than acceptable.” He nodded, smiling affably at Prince Azov. “It is in the Prince’s native language of Russian, which I have had an occasion to study in my youth.”
Traed looked sideways at the man.
“You see?” Rejar gestured with the hand not holding his cards. It was a subtle Zarrainian gesture of insult, which complimented his written words nicely. Behind him, Traed gave a low chuckle.
Rotewick stroked his jaw. It would nearly bankrupt him if he lost. But he was not going to lose. One way or the other. He would nick it. And bury the upstart Prince.
Rotewick threw down his last card. The eight of diamonds.
There was only one card in the suit of diamonds not accounted for above the eight. Did the Prince have the ten? The crowd held its collective breath.
Rejar paused, staring at the eight of diamonds. No expression showed on his handsome face. Then he gazed up at his adversary. Slowly, he flipped his card onto the table.
“Trump,” he said blandly.
A great cheer rang through the crowd. Even Traed slapped him on the back. Jackie, however, was not overly happy.
He muttered sadly under his breath, “I not be knowin’ whether ta cheer fer ya or not, yer Princeship.”
Traed overheard him. “Have no worry, Jackie; you and I will keep a close watch on his ‘Princeship.’”
Which was just as well because Rotewick was already making plans to kill him.
Despite his victory over Rotewick, Rejar returned to the townhouse late that evening in a disquieting mood.
He stood in front of the window in his bedroom and gazed out at the moonless night. Lilac was already sleeping. He did not know whether to feel anger at her for blithely going to sleep without knowing his whereabouts, or pleased because she trusted him so. A Familiar wife would have hit him over the head with a zooplah for daring to come in this late.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
A Familiar wife would have been more open to accepting him for who he was. The insidious words wrapped around his brain.
When was Lilac going to accept him? The troublesome issue was followed by another. How could she begin to accept him if she would not even listen to who and what he was? He had a life outside of Ree Gen Cee Ing Land. He had a home and a family…
Yaniff would say he was being too indulgent. The Aviaran way would be to simply conquer.
He supposed the Familiar way was much the same except more subtly done. His Familiar kin, Gian, would tell him, “Snare first, then pounce.”
Rejar did not think either of those approaches completely appropriate in this case.
Since the day he was hurled out of the Tunnels, this mating danced to its own tune. It was unique. There were no guidelines for him to follow. No fatherly instructions. No Charl platitudes. No Familiar ken.
The simple truth was, he was mated to a woman who came from a primitive culture. A culture who had never heard of life on other planets, Tunnel travel, or Familiars. At least, not his kind of Familiars.
He padded over to the bed.
Standing there, he watched Lilac as she slept. She was lying on her back, hand thrown innocently over her head, fingers curled into her palm. Sheltered and not much more than a babe.
He smiled gently. She was so unprepared for him.
Shedding his clothes, he climbed into bed with her. She immediately rolled into the warmth of his arms.
He hugged her to him, running his mouth along her hairline to the tip of her ear. She mumbled something incoherent in her sleep and snuggled into his chest.
The dilemma which most preyed upon his mind came to the fore.
When would she open her heart to him?
Chapter Fifteen
When he thought back on it, Rejar would remember that the terrible thing he had done was precipitated by a simple comment from Lady Agatha.
“Lilac, I haven’t seen your cat about for ages,” she had said.
They were seated for the evening meal. Just the four of them.
Rejar had been feeling on edge all day and had thought a quiet evening would settle him. He intended to ask Lilac to read to him after the meal, by the fire in the parlor. Sometimes, her gentle voice had a soothing effect on him. Traed had elected to remain in as well.
“’Tis a pity,” Agatha said, going on with her fateful topic, “but I must admit I had grown rather fond of him.”
“Yes, Auntie. It appears Rejar has left us for good.” Lilac took a bite of food without looking up at her husband.
In silent anger, Rejar toyed with the stem of his glass. “Do not say that.” He took a sip of his wine. “He might show himself again.”
Lilac glanced up from her plate. This was not an issue she was going to back down from. Nickolai had given her his word. Hadn’t he? She glared at him. “No, Nickolai; I am sure he won’t.”
“Cats are unpredictable, Lilac. You, of all people, should know that.”
“I think I understand this one and he is never coming back.” Lilac stared at Nickolai pointedly.
Traed looked back and forth between the two of them, concern etching his chiseled features. Something was brewing here. Something powerful and dangerous.
Rejar’s golden eye twitched with the raw emotion he was containing. The reality of the situation struck him. She was nowhere near to accepting him! He was not Traed; his patience only went so far. Her blind stubbornness inflamed the feline in him.
“I do not believe you understand him at all.”
Lilac blinked back the sudden dampness in her eyes at Nickolai’s harsh words. She shouldn’t care what he thought. But she did. “Perhaps you are right. If you’ll excuse me?” Not waiting for his reply, Lilac stood and left the room.
“My word!” Agatha sputtered. “I knew she was fond of the beast; I should have realized how upset she would be over his disappearance.”
Rejar thought Agatha’s statement ironic, since his wife’s actual upset was over the possibility of the cat’s reappearance. “It was not your fault, Lady Agatha.”
“I still feel terrible; she seems so distressed. Should I get her another, do you think?”
“I do not believe so, Lady Agatha.” Rejar got up to follow the path his wife took. “I am sure one ‘beast’ is all she can handle.”
He closed the dining room door behind him.
The door to the bedroom opened, then shut.
Standing by the bed, Lilac looked up at the sound of the ominous click. The fierce expression on Nickolai’s face made her grab the bedpost for support. His sensual dual-colored eyes were leaping with fury. In fact, he seemed rather wild.
What should she do? They had an agreement; he was not the wronged party. She made a conscious choice to meet fire with fire. “What do you have to be angry about?” she flung at him. “I’m the one who is angry!”
It was the wrong tactical decision. He said nothing but that small muscle ticked in his jaw. Resolute, she squared her shoulders.
“We have a bargain, you and I! No more of your hypnotizing foolishness! No more of your silly games! No more of these little mind tricks of yours! If you mean to break your word and go on with this reckless pastime of dabbling in the black arts, then I am afraid I can no longer live with you as your wife!”
That did it.
Something snapped inside of Rejar.
The Aviaran in him was completely cast aside as the untamed Familiar rose up. The female never, never threatened her mate with removal from his presence. To do so invited the wild, spitting, roaring heart of the cat to unleash.
Rejar unleashed.
In two strides he was by her side.
He grabbed the bodice of Lilac’s dress and, with one yank of his clenched fist, ripped it in two.
“Stop it!” Lilac pounded his chest with her fists to no avail. He did not even seem aware she was doing it. Nickolai tore the clothes right from her body.
So caught up in his outrage was he that he did not accord himself the privilege of removing his own clothes. Not wasting any time, he simply transformed himself back and forth in the blink of an eye; thereby rendering himself completely nude. In an instant, his clothes lay in a puddle on the floor behind him.
Lilac screamed. He did not seem to hear.
She was still trying to get over the shock of seeing that wretched change when he advanced on her. While it was true Lilac was naive, she was not stupid. On the contrary, she was an extremely intelligent woman. She immediately turned and prepared to run toward the door.
Familiar reflexes being what they were, he overtook her before she completed the pivot. His strong arm came around her waist from behind to bodily lift her off the floor.
“Nickolai, put me down!” She kicked, thrashing naked in his arms.
Rejar gave her what she wanted, but, perhaps, not in the manner she expected. He tossed her down on the rug before the fireplace and immediately covered her with himself.
Splaying her hands against his bare shoulders, Lilac pushed at him in vain. The muscles of his powerful chest rippled in the firelight as he clasped her wrists, one in each hand, to bring them down over her head. Effortlessly he pinioned her by interlacing his fingers with her own. It was a sexual stance of Nickolai’s that Lilac knew well.
He was inflamed.
Remembering what had happened to her on the previous occasions when her husband had been so inflamed, Lilac ceased her thrashing. She hesitated, thinking quickly. Nickolai was quite something when he was inflamed…
Those incredible eyes of his, narrowed with fury, shot blue and gold fire at her. His sable hair hung about his face, tousled and silken. Those velvet lips of his were compressed in anger but it only accentuated their firm, sensual curve. Lilac thought he had never looked more beautiful.
All rational thought flew out of her head. What was she fighting him for? She wanted him. Lord knew he was exciting her!
Unfortunately, blinded by the splendid picture above her, she was missing his very real ferocity.
“What did you say to me?” he hissed, a hint of white teeth showing.
She grabbed a handful of his hair and made the terrible mistake of saying, “I want you.”
Women had been saying that to him his entire adult life.
Her unthinking words enraged him anew. He did not want her to just want him; he wanted…
With a growl, he speared her with a smoldering look. “Do you? Then far be it from me to not give you what you want.” His mouth crashed down on hers claiming her mouth in an overpowering abduction.
Rejar was out of control.
He pressed forcefully against her lower lip with his tongue, using the expert technique to gain entry into her waiting mouth. There, he swept inside, demanding all that he touched.
Kissing her over and over, he claimed her mouth as he intended to claim her. Thoroughly. There was no conscious thought to his movements, only a cloud of primitive passion.
Employing the Familiar technique of the silken sting—using two teeth on a small portion of her skin—he nipped the corners of her mouth and the center of her
lower lip. The bite was designed to kindle selected points of feminine sensitivity.
He continued the technique along her jawline, delivering the silken sting in a devastating line to key spots of her collarbone.
With the carnal onslaught of that merciless mouth, Lilac couldn’t help but moan. Nickolai’s mouth. A mouth that could deliver untold ecstasy. Her cry of passion escaped lips that pressed against his heated brow.
In his haze, Rejar continued his path, not even realizing he was starting to introduce her to a multitude of methods Familiars had with the loving bite. He moved to her breast, capturing it in his open mouth to administer the waiting haven, a bite particularly suited to his task.
By her choking sounds, Lilac agreed.
After paying equal attention to the other breast, he traveled down the plane of her torso, intermingling several different bites: the kitten’s taste, the fluttering wing…On and on he went, leaving a trail of acutely aroused nerve endings in his wake.
When he reached the joint of her thigh, he ruthlessly delivered the sting of honey, arrowing along the dainty crease. Male lips and teeth came together in an unparalleled combination.
The highly erotic bite brought shivers to his wife.
Tossing back his black hair, he moved up the length of her, only to demand in a low, husky voice the question which would be her downfall. “What is my name, Lilac?”
Passion-dilated eyes glazed back at him. “N-Nickolai,” she whispered.
He held her within his embrace. “No. It is Rejar. Say it, Lilac.”
So, that was his game, she thought, some of the passion-fog leaving her. Well, it wouldn’t work! He would not bend her to his will with his sensual expertise. “I will not call you by that ridiculous name! It is a cat’s name, not yours.”
Rejar’s eyes glinted, a muscle in his jaw pulsed. “Gifted,” he said quietly.
“What?” she bristled.
“Gifted. My name means gifted in the language of my mother’s people.” It was a name he carried with pride, a name his mother had given him in the time-old Familiar tradition of using the senses to name one’s child. It was a name she had given him with great joy when she realized that despite Krue’s Charl blood, she had birthed a Familiar babe.