Blade's Edge Page 8
"By about four minutes.” Leone was watching him closely. “Talyn doesn't like being a twin. She thinks it's an insult to have someone else walking around with her blood in their veins."
"Why?” Blade asked before he thought, which he realized when Leone gave him the “think first, dumbass” glare that was so familiar from adolescence. And from basic training.
"It's a hold Silean has over her. Be good, because I've got another one just as good as you.” Leone shrugged. “At least I assume that's what started it. On the other hand, Talyn has taken it to extremes.” She looked at the table. “Taryn has that scar because her sister tried to kill her and missed. I pulled the knife away from Talyn and slapped her to try to get her back to something approaching sanity. After that, Taryn disappeared for almost a year and my services were no longer required."
"You're telling me that the Crown Prince of Zona is psychotic?” Blade scrubbed his hands over his face. “Gods and demons."
"I don't know about that,” Leone mused, “but she's definitely spoiled, vengeful and not very nice."
"Name me the reality where it's all right to kill someone for having the same DNA as you,” Blade challenged.
She looked up and stared directly into his eyes. “Bariani do it all the time. It's called stem cell cloning.” She frowned. “Or something like that."
Blade shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the drift off subject and especially with the direction of that drift. He'd been assured many times that the chimera were incapable of developing into people, but he'd also never seen any data that anyone had actually tried it to make sure.
"So Taryn is genetically identical to the Crown Heir,” he said after a moment. Which meant her children would have exactly the same claim to the Zonan throne that Talyn's children would have. Only the father's DNA could be used to tell them apart. All the puzzle pieces in his head rearranged and clicked into place, and he knew he had a solution to several problems, if only she would go for it. Except she was Zonan, so she would never go for it and she'd probably try to kill him for the suggestion. Try?
"Crown Prince,” Leone corrected. “I admit I don't understand all of your Bariani mumbo-jumbo about it, but, yeah, she's a threat to Talyn. A branch in the blood that isn't a branch.” She poured. “The one thing that bothers me is Mychell. I don't think the attempt on your life was after you. I think it was a way to get Taryn between a rock and a hard place. No matter who died, she was screwed. And Talyn isn't smart enough to come up with a plan like that on her own."
"Silean?” he asked, distracted by the plan forming in his head.
Leone grimaced. “Smart enough, but not that ruthless.” She fixed him with that glinty stare again. “You're her only way out, you know. And that's going to be a problem."
Blade forced his attention back to the conversation. “What do you mean?"
"Oh come on. King Ramondar is a crafty bastard, and you're his son, even if you only think when all of your other options have been explored and you avoid commitment like it's a disease.” He bristled a little, because he didn't avoid it—he just hadn't found anyone worth it until that very day. “What if the next generation of Barian royalty are also direct descendants of Silean? Goodbye Zonan problem. Hello Dozen Worlds.” She grinned. “Think about it. I'm sure it will come to you."
"You,” he said as he leaned back in the chair, “have a dirty mind. I can't believe you're telling me to seduce her.” Even if it had mirrored his own thoughts, right up to the point where Taryn tried to break his neck and probably succeeded.
The grin faded. “Son, I'm telling you to screw her brains out from here until you get to the Enclave. If you're lucky, really lucky, she'll be pregnant by then and you can talk old lamb-ass into a bonding. Then she'll be a member of the Bariani ruling family and beyond Talyn's reach forever, and Barian gets Zona back when the truth comes out and Silean revokes Talyn's crown prince status. The Dozen Worlds might even reconsider the petition for full status before you take over all of Timarron."
"True,” he managed. He slammed the shot. Bonded, the religious equivalent of a civil marriage, to a woman he'd known for less than a day. Even if her breasts were perfect and her legs went all the way up, and he kept thinking about marriage every time he looked at her, if only in a general way. “How far is it to the Enclave from here?” Maybe he could put it off for a while. Take it slow. He remembered the dagger in the eye socket and amended the thought to very slow. Yeah, slow could be good.
Leone looked thoughtful. “The last time I went for a visit it took about three days, but it was the end of summer. I would recommend moving a little slower this time of year. It's pretty wild country in between, and the horses aren't used to that kind of workout. Call it five days."
"Five days?” He'd been hoping for a couple of weeks at the very least. A couple of years would have been his best-case scenario. “Your faith in my abilities is terrifying."
Leone shrugged. “The moon's going to be new in three days.” Blade blinked. What did that have to do with it? She leaned forward. “Sorry, I forgot. That's generally when Zonan women are at their most fertile."
Maybe it was the whiskey, but he was completely lost. “And you know this because?” he asked.
Leone sighed. “We're a low-tech society, running mostly on sunlight. Our physical cycles mirror natural cycles a lot more closely than yours would with all that artificial light. Most women in Zona have their periods at the full moon, which makes ovulation most likely at the new moon."
"That was entirely too much information,” he said before he could stop himself. In fact, the entire conversation was surreal. He would have to have sex with her every night for the next three days at least, not that it would be difficult in theory, but he would have to force it and that might be the last thing he ever did. “I think I need another drink."
"No, you've had your limit,” Leone said. “You have work to do, Bariani, starting as soon as you get up those stairs. I fed her enough brandy to put down a horse, so at least you have a fighting chance.” That was clearly a dismissal, with orders. He stood before he had a chance to reconsider.
"I was serious about the vaccines, by the way,” he said. “Especially since we haven't got another way to pay for the rooms and the food."
"You save Taryn's life and I'm in your debt forever, though I'll personally beat the shite out of you if you don't treat her right.” She stood, too. “But Trondheim-McKenna could get them to me if you're feeling grateful.” Then she gave him a look with a lop-sided grin that told him without words that he might be in for the ride of his life.
He definitely wanted another drink, and he wanted to let Taryn get good and asleep before he went anywhere near those stairs. Even then, he might seriously need the body armor he'd packed away after the shower.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Six
Talyn shivered when she closed the door of her quarters behind her and realized she was all alone in the dimness. She had shared these rooms, and especially the bed, with Mychell for almost four years. He had become part of her, comfortable as pajamas; now he was gone.
Something in the ceiling creaked, sounding vaguely ominous. Talyn winced, shrinking back against the door to the hallway, where two stern Silvergarders stood watch. A light flared in the gloom and she saw the blue-haired offworlder light up a cigar, his legs stretched out over the table that had held her breakfast tray that morning. He puffed it several times, exhaling smoke that seemed to snake directly toward the door. It made her cough, because it smelled like no other smoke she'd ever come into contact with. She pushed away from the door behind her and advanced into the room toward the fireplace.
"Greetings, Prince Talyn,” he said in that strangely velvety accent that made her think of vampires for some reason. “I've been waiting to hear what you've found out regarding the location of your sister and the Bariani Crown Heir. Where will they sleep tonight?"
"I haven't the slightest idea,” she lied smoothly
as she knelt to spark the tinder to life. “I do know Commander Penthes was not wounded in the ambush. My mother is working with the Barianis, who say the blood on her clothes is male, not hers.” It came out in a rush, because she was disoriented, because he was almost seven feet tall and in her space, and especially because the flare of his match had shown he wasn't wearing any clothes. As the fire caught she sneaked a look at him over her shoulder to be sure. He was staring at her, and he very definitely wasn't wearing any clothing at all. She added a small log to take off the chill in the room. A chill he didn't seem to feel, if what she had seen was any indication. She turned back to face him when the flames were licking at the seasoned wood.
"Very interesting, Your Royal Highness.” He took a deep drag on the cigar and held his breath for a moment, staring back at her while she fought to maintain eye contact. As the fire behind her grew, there was enough light to tell that his eyes weren't yellow anymore, either, but a rich, deep green, and his body was darkly bronzed and a perfect specimen of male homo sapiens. Talyn felt her mouth go dry. The Zonan Matriarchy might be descended from a Bariani pleasure slave, but they had been independent for a long time. It didn't mean, however, that a Penthes wasn't prone to instinctive tension in the presence of a prime male bent on domination, and the confidence for nudity implied that intent.
"Do you have a name?” she forced herself to ask after a hard swallow to get her throat cleared. “I'm tired of addressing a Dozen Worlds representative as Hey, You.” He studied her for almost a minute, then shrugged.
"My name is Sharif Mustafan Tanaka.” He smiled lazily through the cloud of smoke that came out with the words, showing disturbingly long canines. “I doubt very much that any magic you could use it for would affect me, though."
"Magic?” she echoed, confused, as he took another drag on the cigar. She stood and advanced on him to show his size and gender didn't intimidate her, even if it did just a little. “Just because we shun most of the high technology that shortens lifespans in the Dozen Worlds doesn't mean we're ignorant savages, Tanaka. Zonans know there is no such thing as magic."
He spat a cloud of blue smoke almost directly in her face with a bark of laughter. It smelled strangely sweet and made her head spin, and she realized it must be some kind of drug. She pressed a cuff of sleeve to her mouth and nose to try to screen out the smoke.
"There are many in Garnford Major and Minor who would consider Mustafan Tanaka a name to conjure with,” he said, then smiled in a way that made her feel like he might like to bite her. “What an attractive dress, Your Royal Highness.” He lifted his long, muscular legs from the table and flowed to his feet. “Where is it from? I would like to acquire one for my collection of Zonan art objects."
"It was a gift,” she said through her sleeve as he sauntered the three steps toward her, puffing on the smoldering tube. Talyn backed away from the imposing form. “What is that thing? The smoke smells strange.” Her retreat was stopped by the wall next to the fireplace.
"It's a Garnford Minor cheroot,” he said when he got to her. His words breathed another puff of the smoke directly into her face, and the cloth didn't shelter her lungs from it at all. “Very powerful variety of the herb.” He stepped closer, puffed again, and blew the smoke directly and purposefully into her face, making her eyes water.
"What herb?” she asked as she fought the sense of lightheadedness and a rising euphoria.
He made a clucking noise, took another pull from the blighted thing and pressed his body against hers. Even through her clothes she could feel his heat, and she dropped her wrist from her nose to try to push him away, which had no effect. Then he removed the cigar from his lips without exhaling, pinched her nose and forced her mouth open before sealing his lips over hers. Talyn thought he meant to kiss her, which would have been bad enough, but instead he exhaled the smoke directly into her, forcing it into her lungs.
"I don't think the name would translate, but it's a genetically tailored member of the hemp family,” he said when he released her and she could cough the stuff out of her lungs. “It has quite ... unusual properties.” She blinked up at him, suddenly unable to think of anything but the male body pressed against her, holding her in place. “That's it. Let the smoke do its work and keep that lovely mouth shut for once. You're very attractive until you open your mouth, you know."
"What?” There was something wrong here, but she had no idea what it might be or why it was wrong. Everything felt so good. She relaxed into him and felt his hands on her waist. “I'm sorry, I'm not feeling myself right now. What did you say?"
"You'll be fine in the morning,” he said, a predatory edge in his voice. “And tonight, you'll be ... more than fine.” His hands were warm, the strength so comforting that she giggled and leaned into him, sighing when his arms slid around her waist and pulled her closer. “Damn, you're a docile little thing when you get some weed in you. I almost feel sorry for you, Prince Talyn."
"Sorry for me?” she echoed, confused. “I'm going to be queen of Grant Barian."
"Unlikely,” he countered. “You are, however, going to be used tonight, like the toy you were bred to be. And the smoke is getting you ready.” He pulled half a step away from her and ripped open the bodice of her dress. She looked down at her breasts, confused because they were visible. He covered them with his hands, and the convoluted statement unraveled a bit as she stared at the bronzed fingers with their claw-like nails against her pale, tender flesh. Moreover, she wanted it, wanted him, although she couldn't understand that either. Mychell had just been killed. She shouldn't be attracted to another man so quickly, should she? The offworlder began to massage her chest. “Does that feel good?"
Talyn moaned and shifted her legs, words almost beyond her.
"I thought it might. We'd better get this dress the rest of the way off, too."
Obedient to the hypnotic voice, she tried to shrug out of the ruined garment, but her arms and hands were clumsy, languid, as if they'd forgotten how to move properly.
"I can't—what's the matter with me?” she asked, hearing the plaintive whine in her voice but unable to care. She reached toward him, beseeching with her gaze. “Please, can you help me?"
He smiled slowly, and though it showed his white fangs she also saw the heat of desire. “Allow me,” he said, taking his hands away from her breasts.
She whimpered at the loss, but he ripped her dress open the rest of the way, clear down to the floor-length hem, in a far more direct solution to the problem of access. He pulled her down to the fur rug in front of the fireplace, rolling on top of her and spreading her legs apart. She moaned, because it felt so good to be handled like that, just moved into whatever position he wanted.
He took one more deep drag off the cigar and carefully tamped it out on the hearth, then leaned over her and put his mouth on hers again. This time she was ready, and inhaled as deeply as she could, but also slid her tongue forward to taste him. He seemed to like that, grunting as he moved slightly away from her and spreading her legs still wider as he exhaled until her lungs were about to burst. He released her mouth and she gratefully let the smoke out of her lungs as she felt his fingers slide over and through the folds of her genitals.
"Oh!” escaped, a breathless surprise when two fingers found the opening and pushed inside. “Oh, yes."
"Mmm, nice and wet,” he breathed, sliding the fingers in and out a couple of times. “I think this will do for the first."
"Don't stop.” She clutched at his arms when he pulled his hand away.
"Don't worry,” he said and pushed his hips forward, filling her completely, pulling back a little, then shoving something larger than she'd ever experienced into her. She choked a little at the strangeness of the sensation. “Generations of designer ancestors have given me a unique ability to comfort widows, little prince."
He began to move, slow and experimental at first, but within seconds he was riding her more forcefully than Mychell ever had, and it was so good, so very good.
Almost immediately she was arching and writhing from the intensity of the sensations. He muttered something that sounded like a curse in another language, then pinned her hands over her head and started thrusting faster. She was almost to the breaking point, teetering on the edge of nirvana, when he suddenly stopped, tensing, shuddering, then collapsing on her, barely even out of breath.
"No.” He was still holding her down, or she would have slapped him. “No! You son of a bitch!"
"Oh, stop it,” he admonished as she started to struggle in earnest. He raised himself on his elbows to look into her eyes without freeing the arms over her head. “I've needed that for weeks, and it's not like we're done here.” Talyn was so astonished that she had nothing to say. He reinforced it by bending to nip at her collarbone, then began working his way down to a breast until he could cover her nipple with his mouth and suckle. She moaned, because it felt so good, even through the frustration.
"Isn't that better than being a bitch?” he asked as he switched to her other breast. “Bitches get used. Ladies are given pleasure.” He went back to his interrupted task, leaving her with that odd thought and no brain to work out what he meant, although she had a strange feeling she wasn't going to get much sleep that night.
* * * *
After she left Leone, Taryn could barely keep her eyes open for the walk up the stairs to her room. She suspected it was because of the brandy, but the long, nightmarish day might have had some bearing as well. After fighting the doorknob for entirely too long, she closed the door on the carefully stone-faced Bariani standing in the hallway and stripped off the dress. She wasn't wearing any underwear beneath it because it had only been something to throw on while she was eating, and sleeping in the nude wasn't uncommon at Leone's. There was something else she needed to do before she could crawl into bed, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what it was. So she burrowed down into the covers and fell off the edge of the world.