A Bard's Prophecy Part 4

She s.h.i.+fted before him, faster than she had that first time, bigger and angrier than he'd seen her before. The great White Dragon blocked his path, her wings partially unfurled. "No. Ye shall not pa.s.sss, little man-thing." As if to emphasize her point, she grinned at him-if a grin it were-her open mouth revealing dozens of razor-sharp teeth.

"Would you hold me here against my will, Anika? Is that what our love has come to?"

The Dragon's face showed what appeared to be sorrow. Still, the wings stretched farther, and a small singeing hint of flame scorched the air when she spoke. "Now isss not the time to be spreading rumorsss of armiesss of Dragonsss."

A cry of rage and defiance tore Braunnan from her sleep. She reached for her weapons, instantly alert. Even as her hands closed over the hilt of her War Hammer, she realized where the cry had come from. She rejected the weapon, rolling instead to wrap her warmth around Cullaelon's frigid body. As she stroked her hand over his shoulder, he drew in a hard, shuddering breath. "I am here, my love," she promised. "You are not alone."

"Braunnan?"

"Always, my mate. Forever and always."

His breath came in short gasps, as if he'd been running. Or fighting. Slowly his hard muscles relaxed under her touch. "I-the dream. It was so real this time."

She didn't have to ask what dream. Only one dream would have affected him like this. "Our cubs are safe, Cullaelon. They will come next spring, when the world is green and the strawberries are full and ripe again. We shall have two, I think. A boy and a girl. To preserve the balance."

He rolled in her arms, his body warmer now, his touch light as he swept his hand over her thigh and up to rest on her belly. A low growl rumbled in his throat. "Are you sure, my love? Perhaps we need to store up a few more."

She adjusted her body to lay more comfortably against him, already nudging her b.r.e.a.s.t.s toward his exploring hand. "It never hurts to have extra embryos ready," she agreed. "They will keep until they are needed."

She reached for him in the darkness, knowing almost instinctively where his lips would be. His teeth closed over her lip, sending s.h.i.+vers down her spine. He didn't ask questions now. His hands were firm and possessive, rolling her to her back, spreading her legs as he came to his knees between her thighs. She could see his silhouette in the early light of pre-dawn, a huge bear of a man who knelt over her now, his long hair loose, his shoulders blocking the moonlight that came in through the one small window, making him look wild and predatory.

Such was not far from the truth.

His talent for sensing the emotions of others seemed heightened since they'd been above ground. Almost as if he knew the small jolts of electricity his teeth had sent spiking through her, he reached now to graze her nipple with the edges of incisors that, while they were not as ferocious as the grizzlies, still reminded her of the power and strength with which the grizzly could so easily dominate her. A s.h.i.+ver of antic.i.p.ation ran through her. She reached for him, intent on pulling his head down until he did more than just tease her aching b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Or rather she tried to reach for him, and could not. Her arms wouldn't move. Braunnan fought momentarily against bonds she couldn't see or feel before understanding came to her. Cullaelon. Cullaelon was doing this with his mind. He must have sensed more than she'd wanted him to. She hadn't meant to encourage him to dominate her. Not like this. Had she?

Then his lips were on hers, biting, kissing, battling with her tongue as she tried to regain some control. His hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, waging war against her senses. She squirmed, fighting him now, not to get away, but to get closer, pus.h.i.+ng herself against the molten heat of his c.o.c.k, so close, yet beyond her reach.

"Is there something you want, Mistress of the Fifth House?"

He was laughing at her. "You know what I want, you beast. f.u.c.k me!"

He sat up again, leaving her cold and alone. "I don't think so. Not just yet."

The bonds still held her, arms above her head, legs spread wide, as if she'd been tide to posts the bed didn't have. "You have something better to do?"

"I just like looking at you. All that power. Muscle and bone, what is it without a mind as sharp as yours to go with it? And it's all wrapped up in a package that's as beautiful as it is powerful. From the first moment I saw you I wanted you."

Braunnan snorted. "You thought I was a Daemoness."

"That doesn't mean I didn't want to f.u.c.k you."

In the name of the seven, what was he doing now? She whimpered as she saw what he'd gotten up to fetch. She'd found it in one of the waterfront shops just today. A bottle of cinnamon scented oil. She wriggled against the restraints-or perhaps in antic.i.p.ation-as he warmed the bottle in his hands. She knew from experience how warm his hands could be.

One small drop rolled out as he tilted the bottle, landing an eternity later to roll down the cleft of her sternum. The next, coming ages later, settled in the budded tip of her left nipple. It stayed there, hovering on the tip, while they both watched and waited, a warm, glistening drop of need that made her want to shriek. She couldn't object. She'd taught him this game. But still, the slow, thorough torture was going to drive her insane.

She jumped when the next drop hit her right nipple, sending both droplets spreading over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in a slow, rolling wave. She bit her lip, hard, as two drops. .h.i.t in fast succession, spreading like warm kisses over her mons. Her hips bucked up hard off the bed, but she couldn't reach anything now.

Strong, work hardened hands moved to spread the oil over her body with long, sweeping strokes. She writhed and twisted against him, almost ready to come from just the touch of his hands on her skin. She wanted everything all at once. His hands. His lips. His tongue. His teeth. His c.o.c.k. "Cullaelon!" she sobbed. "Now!"

"Now?" His c.o.c.k teased her opening. "Is this what you want?"

The slow, steady friction as he slid into her sheath pushed her over the edge. Her muscles tightened around him, clamping him as the waves broke over her. "Yes!" she screeched. But it was not. She wanted that, and so much more.

He knew. He gave her what she wanted. Slow, deep thrusts. Hard, fast thrusts. His hands on her nipples, b.u.t.terfly kisses against her belly, her shoulders, her throat. Harder. Faster. Slower. Deeper. Pus.h.i.+ng now against the top of her v.a.g.i.n.a, demanding her response as she broke for him again with a long, shuddering moan.

His hand slipped beneath her, teasing the other opening with one thick, oiled finger. She trembled, pulling away from the finger, but he found her, pressing slowly until she allowed him in. She broke again as a fresh wave of sensations washed over her.

Two could play this game. She focused on the feel of his finger within her, imagining hers sliding deep within him, ma.s.saging the small knot of his prostate. While he might not be able to read her mind, exactly, his ability to feel her emotions seemed to give him a clear enough picture of what she was about. He stiffened within her for a moment, then began the dance again, his control clearly slipping as he plunged into her.

Her hands came free. She used them to clench at his hips, digging her nails in, pulling, pus.h.i.+ng, urging him on. More. She wanted more. He gave it. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Faster. A glistening sheen of sweat stood out on his skin. She reached up to bite at his neck, bared to her now as he arched hard against her.

"Happy now?" he teased.

"Yes!" she laughed again.

He caught one of her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his mouth, sucking hard. She wrapped her legs around his waist, fighting to meet each stroke, pus.h.i.+ng, demanding. She laughed in triumph as he tensed, his entire body stiffening, his quivering c.o.c.k emptying his treasury into her for safekeeping. As the hot c.u.m washed over her, she broke again, fisting around him, clenching hard, milking him of his seed.

The wracking shudders that bound them together seemed to go on forever, until at last he stilled within her, collapsing over her, spent and exhausted. "You shall be the death of me," he muttered against her damp skin.

"You are the life of me," she replied, wrapping her arms around him with what little strength she still possessed. "I love you, Cullaelon."

"As I love you. Forever and always, my love."

"Forever and always."

Chapter Five.

"Now isss not the time to be spreading rumorsss of armiesss of Dragonsss." Calib stared at the angry Dragon who now held him trapped in their tiny room. He took a long, deep breath to steady his nerves. He must stay calm. Panic would gain him nothing. It wasn't as if he'd never had to fight his way out before. He could fight her if he had to. He knew how to take down a larger opponent. It didn't matter that he was unarmed. Three years in the arena had taught him more than he'd ever wanted to know about how to kill a man-or anything else-with or without weapons. He didn't want to kill her. He'd rather meet his end than harm her. But he couldn't allow an angry Dragon to run amuck, either. He had to reach her on another level. This battle would be won with words, not with brute force. Once the first blow landed, he would already have lost. There had to be another way to reach her. The Dragon had him trapped, but the woman he loved was still there, trapped within the Dragon's fear and rage.

"Anika. The Dragon in your dreams, did she want to hurt people?"

"Yesss. She wanted to kill."

"Who? Who did she want to kill in the dreaming? Who were her enemies?"

The Dragon's focus s.h.i.+fted, looking back into the long ago. "Pain. Ssso much pain. The Dark Furiesss,

they came for usss. Mussst kill. Mussst defend our peoplesss."

"Who were you in the dreaming, Anika? Who were you defending?"

The Dragon blinked slowly, an eyeball nearly as large as his hand disappearing and reappearing behind

dark lashes and white scales. Thank the G.o.ds the room was so small. Had she materialized in proportions built to fit in a bigger room... "The childrensss. The cubsss. They were after the cubsss." "What cubs, Anika?" "The babiesss! My babiesss. The cubsss of the House I was sworn to protect." "What was the House, M'Lady? Whose House were you sworn to protect?" She blinked again as she tried to remember. "The House my father a.s.signed me to. The First House." "The First House, Clan Bear."

"Yesss," she agreed reluctantly.

"I am of the Third House, Clan Bear. I am your friend and your ally, as my family was to yours that day.

I have sworn an oath to defend you. I am a man of my word. I would not go back on that oath now."

The Dragon blinked again, slowly dissipating as if she had been but a thing of the mists. The woman who stood before him now looked shaken, but far from broken. "Even if my mother had planned to raise an army of Dragons, I think it would not have worked to her satisfaction. I never had my mother's full trust and support. I could not hide who I was, though I tried. I needed the light. I told myself I went to the sun for the effect it had on my skin, to hide my deformity, but the truth is I welcomed the sun's warmth."

Calib gathered her into his arms. "What you are is perfection, my love. The only true goodness to ever come out of that dark place."

She looked up at him, her deep violet eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. "You see perfection where there is only failure, Calib. I could not be what my mother wanted me to be. I do not believe our kind was meant to live in the darkness. But I am not good, as you see me, either. I have killed. I will kill again. We are what we are. Such is my nature."

"I will never ask you to be aught but what you are, my love. I, too have killed. I shall kill again. We are soldiers. Warriors trained to kill."

The tears broke loose to run silently down her cheeks. "Then let us pray only to fight on the side of right this time."

Calib kissed her, his arms around her the only promise he could make. He heard again Donovan's prophecy in his mind. What was right? What was wrong? Was it right to lead his woman into a battle that would surely pit her against her mother's people? Did her father's blood make so much difference? "We could avoid this war. We could take a s.h.i.+p out in the morning, in search of your father's people."

She shook her head. "I think that's what the dreams meant. The war is coming to us, and my father with it. Whatever happens, Calib, know that I have never regretted what we have found together. I love you, Calib. I love you as I never thought to love any male. I will face the dawn with you."

"Together," he agreed. "Side by side."

"Together."

Donovan's song filtered through the soft light of dawn as they gathered. The rich, deep timber of his voice reached straight into their souls. They listened, enchanted, as if they'd never really heard the prophecy before.

Come to me, my people, At the water's edge. Come to me, my Warriors. Let the blood flow. Come to me, my children. Let us cleanse the Earth. Let us sing the Song of The Bear.

They listened together as they had dreamed together. The song had more meaning now. They were the people gathered at the water's edge. They were Warriors. They would make the blood flow. They would cleanse the Earth. They would avenge their fathers. They would reclaim their children.

The voice chanted on, repeating the song, as weapons appeared from their stockpiles, and mail covered the ragtag a.s.sortment of tunics, until they began to look like an army. Soldiers lined the wharf, the army arranged like a mighty hand, its fingers jutting out into the water on piers that were barely fit to hold the weight of them all.

As the sun slipped above the horizon, the docks were still for the first time in a century. Onlookers watched from the hillside, spectators with only a pa.s.sing interest in whatever had brought the day's labors to a close before they were even started.

And they waited. Warriors and Merchants alike, they waited.

As the sun rose above the watery horizon, Donovan's voice grew quiet. The mists burned away with the full weight of the dawn, revealing what the night had hidden. A single s.h.i.+p sailed toward City of Port-a small, inauspicious s.h.i.+p that might otherwise have escaped notice.

"She comes."

Giselle watched him now from where she stood on the front porch of the inn. No more the drunkard slumped over her bar, he stood tall now, the wind that bore the s.h.i.+p to them spreading his hair out behind him like a pennant. He stood as the rest, outfitted in chainmail and battle axe, and yet he stood apart, his voice the one that reached through the crowd, his song the one that had pulled them together.

His vision had built this army.

True, it was Braunnan and Cullaelon and Calib who had given the army form and weapons and armor, through their efforts and their organizational talents-and with the help of Anika's fundraising capacities. But it was Donovan who gave them heart.

Giselle sighed. It would be easier if he wasn't so d.a.m.nably handsome. No, it wouldn't. Because beyond that there was his voice. Her heart melted at the sound of his voice. It was all she could do to maintain her facade of indifference. She well knew who he fancied himself in love with. But when the General landed, when the army moved on, Giselle was the one who would be left here, alone once again. She had one fatherless child. She had no need of another.

"What in the name of the nine h.e.l.ls is that?"

Tranorva lowered her gla.s.s without taking her eyes off the coastline. "Apparently, Mother, an army awaits us."

"An army." Evalayna's voice steadied. "Of course. I should have expected as much."

"Aye," Ayailla agreed. "Ye should have, Daughter. Ye know the prophecies. When Elahandara falls, she falls to an army. An army of Bears. Nafesti attempted to circ.u.mvent the prophecy, but instead she only hastened her own demise."

Tranorva did spare her grandmother a glance, one eyebrow raised like a question mark. "Ye knew about this?"

It was Shammall, who stood at her side in the place of her consort, dressed in his finest blue silk robes, who answered. "The prophecy has come down through the ages. I attempted to teach you these things when you were a child, M'Lady, but you had little time for history."

Perhaps, Tranorva thought to herself, that was because it was not your words that interested me.But she thought better than to say so aloud. The time for flirting with her lover was long past. Time now to be a general once again.

She had not counted on an army. Their party alone was enough to contend with in the cramped s.p.a.cesof the halls of Elahandara. She had already separated the Bears from the Wolves, sending as many Bears as possible below, so that she might approach the front gates unnoticed. An army meant the loss of the element of surprise.

On the other hand, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. Obviously their original plan would no longer work. There was no such thing as the element of surprise when you had an army at your back. Already in her mind she rewrote her tactics, taking command as naturally as she donned her armor of amorning. The ground around the east gates of Elahandara was not suited to their mission. They would travel the most direct route. They would make their stand at the pa.s.s of St. Gregory.

"The Pa.s.s of St. George."

Tranorva raised an eyebrow at her grandmother, unaware that she'd spoken her battle plans aloud. No. She hadn't. Grandmother was on a rant of her own.

"Our original tactics did not call for an army of well armed bears. Those who await will be of no use in the tunnels. An army this size must have room to pa.s.s. They only way in is the pa.s.s of St. George."

"Who is Saint George?"

"According tomy legends, it was Saint George who slew the Dragon."

Dahlai faced the old woman, anger s.h.i.+ning in her lavender eyes. "They made him a Saint for this? And named a pa.s.s after him?"

"No," Takuri explained, reining in her daughter with a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The Pa.s.s was named for the Dragon, my dear. Saint Gregory was the Dragon. He was our father's father, your grandfather. He held back an army that threatened those he protected, though it cost him his life."

Ayailla's face wrinkled into a frown. "The Dragon? St. Gregory was the Dragon? Shammall, why didn't ye tell me this? All these years we have argued over the name of that d.a.m.nable pa.s.s, and all ye had to do was explain it correctly!"

Shammall raised his shoulders and let them drop in an elegant show of unconcern. "Takuri is older than I am. She remembers much I did not learn in my histories."