An Excerpt From: Spring Pleasures

© Copyright Anya Bast, 2003.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave, Inc.

                                             Chapter One

Raven reached up and knotted the thick quilt she lay on in both hands and twisted her hips, dragging her legs across the mattress of the four-poster bed and enjoying the brush of the soft material against her bare skin. Candlelight flickered over the walls of the opulent chamber, drawing long shadows on the rush-covered cobblestone floor. Her gown bunched around her hips as she shifted to stare at each tapestry-hung wall in turn. The chamber they'd locked her in had no window for her to use as an exit to freedom.

She closed her eyes and imagined the wind on her face, enveloping her body as she plummeted toward the ground. There was always that moment of release and acceptance when she thought maybe this time…maybe this time…she'd connect with the stretch of unforgiving ground beneath her—fold herself into Aran's earthy embrace forevermore. But then the telltale crisp snap and brief lightning-fast bolt of pain would signal feather ripping through flesh, always quickly followed by the sound of muscle, bone, and tendon exploding, melding, and reaching out for flight as her half-life unfurled to the gentle winds.

Raven twisted on the bed and arched her back, gritting her teeth and tightening her grip on the blanket. She tossed her head and her long hair spread like a curtain over her face as she imagined the ecstasy of flight…of freedom. In her mind, her long, strong wings bore her body up on the edge of a gust, high above this castle and the people within it who were not like her, who would never understand her or what she was.

She released the blankets and brought her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins and burying her face between her kneecaps as the tears came. Three weeks ago, she'd been content, living in the northern Nordan forests with her grandmother. Theirs had been a quiet life, at least until the foreign men had come.

Raven hadn't known there was such a thing as these creatures who'd intruded on their peace. She'd never seen a man. She'd never seen anyone other than her grandmother before, so she hadn't known to be afraid. Not then.

She knew now.

Two weeks ago, in the furthest northern reaches of Nordan, when the golden man had appeared to her from around a tree and smiled, she'd been entranced. Always she'd dreamed of seeing a man. Her grandmother had told her of them and they'd fueled her fantasies as she grew to womanhood.

She'd gone to the man and touched his brightly colored clothing, his golden hair, his face and lips. The stubble on his chin had tickled the palm of her hand.

She'd been naïve, allowing him to touch her in return—tracing the edge of her chin, limning the curve of her bared shoulder with his fingertips. She'd closed her eyes and enjoyed it because she'd longed for that her whole life—for a male to touch her, cherish her. In the strange man standing before her, she'd thought all her hopes and dreams had come true.

Then his touching had changed, grown more demanding, and far more threatening. Memories of him flooded her mind; his hot groping hands taking what she didn't want to give, his foul breath tainting the air between their too close mouths, fingers clenching around her breasts, her nipples. She'd twisted out of his reach and ran, falling through the remaining patches of snow and dodging brush and tree limbs.  

Desperately, she'd sought the steep incline she knew lay ahead of her and jumped off it. But the man had been ready. Right after the violent sprout of wings from her shoulder blades he'd thrown a looped rope around her throat and pulled so it tightened around her esophagus.

Nails scrabbling at the noose as it choked her, she'd tried to fly away from him. But inch by agonizing inch, he'd pulled her down to the ground, into his arms, and to the wicked edge of the blade he wielded.

He'd hit her so she lost consciousness and when she'd awoken, she'd been in a wooden cage along with Grandmother.

They'd known what she and Grandmother were all along. They'd tracked them and hunted them down. She'd found that out from Grandmother on the way south through the woods, as they left all they'd known behind them. In the gentle cooing language of their people, Grandmother had told Raven many things. She'd told her stories of strangers imprisoning their ancestors, hunting them down and cutting off their wings as trophies to mount on their walls. As Grandmother had grown sicker and sicker from the loss of her freedom and the harsh traveling conditions, she'd told her of heartbreak and hatred, of bloodshed and fear.

And Raven's naiveté had forever been extinguished. 

The first time after her capture that the golden man had touched Raven, she'd blackened his eye and got one in return. He'd shackled her to him after that, so she never left his side. Every time he'd touched her she'd fought him tooth and nail, frustrating his every attempt, but she'd paid for her successes in her own blood and tears. He could've restrained her, beat her into submission, but he'd never done that. It had seemed he'd enjoyed her struggles and was merely biding his time until she finally broke.

The golden man would have eventually won. Little by little he'd been destroying her, eating away at her will. When Grandmother had died one cold morning, Raven had nearly given in to him in her sorrow. But then they'd buried Grandmother in the ground. In Aran! Not wrapped and hung in a tree with her possessions and symbols of her life in the way of her people. It had been a sacrilege—defamation. Rage had overtaken her sorrow, and that rage hadn't disappeared.

Hot tears fell onto Raven's cheeks at the memories, and she pulled herself into a tighter ball in the center of the bed.

"Shush." A hand brushed her hair and Raven unfurled her body and scrambled over the edge of the bed to the floor on the opposite side. She hadn't even heard the door open. Her heart beating hard in her chest, she peered up over the edge of the bed.

The one they called Talyn peered back at her. Of all of them, he disturbed her the most. Every time the man came near, he sent a wave of deep comfort through her. He was not safe, that one. He held the ability to calm her, make her do what he wished. She didn't like that loss of control. Not one little bit.

Not only that, but his touch made her long for what she'd wanted from the golden man before he'd revealed his ruthlessness—she wanted Talyn's hands on her body. Places she never knew could ache, wept with desire at the mere thought of this man's hands exploring her.

"Easy, Raven," he said. "I came with servants to fill your bathing tub. You have not had a bath since you've arrived and you have caked blood on your skin and in your hair."  He held out one strong hand.

She narrowed her eyes. For a long time she hadn't understood their speech, but she'd known the key to her survival depended upon learning it. Eventually sounds and syllables had coalesced, then separated, and finally had become understandable. She guessed it was a quirk of her race, a survival mechanism. But now that Grandmother was dead, there was no one to ask.  She was the very last of her kind.

She studied Talyn through the tangled mess of her hair. His eyes were the color of the deepest forests, a rich green, and were shaped like almonds. Long, dark lashes fringed them, nearly as long as her own. Those eyes glittered with intelligence and secrets from a face that was all hard angles and edges. It was a handsome face with a strong chin and full lips.  His hair fell to his shoulders when it was unbound, but most of the time he kept the glossy mass secured at the nape of his neck with a thin leather thong. It was the color of the earth when you dug deep into her—a brown so dark it was nearly black. 

Muscles rippled under his tunic and jerkin when he moved. It was clear from his body, which was honed by physical action, that this was no idle man. The servant women talked about him oftentimes and called him 'Captain Talyn.' Was he captain of the castle guard? Raven suspected so.

The door opened and servants entered, each carrying buckets of steaming water they dumped into the bathing tub in the corner of the room. Raven skittered back at the noise and hit her head on the bedside table.

Talyn rounded the bed and knelt beside her. He put a hand to her crown, seemingly to soothe her pain, and she forced herself not to shrink from him. "Do you understand a word I say to you?" he murmured, stroking her head like she was a wild animal in need of taming.  He inhaled. "Goddess, but you smell good. You smell of the forests and of the sky, even filthy as you are, you still smell of freedom."

As always, his touch did something to her she couldn't explain. She fought the urge to close her eyes and purr at the sensation of his strong fingers trailing over her scalp and catching in her long hair.  She let a shuddering sigh escape her. 

She'd been aware of this man from the first time she'd seen him. Something about him thrummed through her bloodstream…like a low-level vibration. He was different from the others, but why she knew not. 

"Sienne says you're learning our language on your own." He shook his head and smiled. Raven let herself become fascinated with the dimple that popped out on his left cheek. She'd never seen him smile before. "I don't know about that," he continued.

It took all the strength she had to reach up and still the motion of his hand, when really all she wanted was for him to continue stroking her. She took his wrist and pushed it to his chest while meeting his eyes steadily. The symbolism was clear. Hands off. 

He laughed. "Aye, but you're not simple. I can see intelligence glimmering in the depths of those eyes." He squinted. "Green edged in gold. Most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen."

Raven didn't understand why those words pleased her so very much. 

He stood. "Come, Raven. Lady Sienne and Lord Marken have put you into my care. Don't ask me why. I never asked for this duty."

She picked up a hank of her hair and inspected it. It was a dull gray when normally it was a black so dark it shined with shades of purple and blue. She hadn't had a bath since the golden man had taken her. That had been almost an entire moon cycle ago. She dropped the tendril and stood. "Fine. I'll…take a…bath."  Her mouth wrapped around the strange words carefully and with a noticeable accent—but she was understandable. She had a talent for imitating the sounds others made.

Talyn's jaw dropped and his eyebrows rose.

"Your language is not so" –-she frowned searching for the word—"difficult. My native tongue is much harder to learn for one not born to it." The words were coming easier now that her tongue was catching up to her mind. She stepped past him.

The servants had filled the bathing tub and set more candles around the room, brightening it considerably. She walked to the edge of the tub and dipped her finger into the water. She could already imagine the warmth enveloping her, washing away the touch and stench of the golden man.

Grasping her tattered gown at the waist, she shrugged it over her head and let it fall to the floor. The cool air pebbled her skin.

Talyn let out a long, low whistle behind her.

She turned to look at him and frowned. "Your women here often go nearly unclothed. I have seen this and thought it your culture. Have I made an error in undressing before you?"

"Undress in front of me whenever you wish, Raven. Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

She stood for a moment, feeling his gaze take in her body. Her nipples hardened and a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. Her body needed this man in ways she didn't understand. She turned back to the bathing tub and stepped in. "My name is not Raven…ahhhh," she finished on a sigh as she sank gratefully into the water. "That is merely what the golden man called me."

"Golden man? Ah. You mean Cyrus." Boots sounded on the floor and he stood over her. "Then what is your name?"

She dribbled water over her shoulders and shrugged. "I have none. There was Grandmother and Granddaughter. We were only two. No need to call each other anything else." She looked up at him to see if he understood.

"Since I cannot call you Granddaughter" –-his eyes flicked down the length of her body— "and nor would I want to. I’d like to call you Raven."

She shrugged and picked up the soap that sat in a little dish on the side of the bathing tub.

He put a finger to her shoulder blade and ran it down one of the long, mottled scars that tracked down each side of her back. "What are these from?" he asked.

Fear rippled through her. He could not know what those scars were from. "How…how did you see those in this darkened room and from so far away?"

"I have excellent vision and can see without much light. Now tell me. What caused these? They look fresh; no less than a month old and it looks like they've been cut open repeatedly. Who did this to you…Cyrus?" He sounded angry.

She glanced at him and then concentrated on lathering the soap between her palms. "They're nothing. You're wrong. They're not fresh…they're very old scars from when I was a child."

"You've got an awful lot of secrets, Raven."

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to stay here and watch me bathe?"

He leaned over her and picked up a razor. "I won't leave, not while this is here, nor the water. My lord and lady told me not to let you kill yourself. And since you've got such a penchant for windows, we all know that's what you want to do."

She looked down at the soap she was busy lathering into her hands. "You misunderstand." But she couldn't reveal the real reason she'd twice tried to jump out the castle windows. What if these people were like the others and wanted her because she was the last of her kind? She couldn't take the chance. "You can take the razor. I have no hair to shave. The females of my people grow no hair below the neck, except for…." Her eyes flicked down.

"I noticed that, actually," Talyn bit off. He set the razor down and braced his hand on the opposite side of the tub. The action brought his face near hers. She could smell mint on his breath and the scent of his body. He used some kind of soap that smelled like the woods. She couldn't help it. She inhaled and memories filled her mind. It was almost like going home.

His aura, his energy, whatever it was—the vibration he gave off made her dizzy. Having him so near her was like having him touch her. It made her go passive, made her want to wrap herself in his arms. At the same time she wanted to pull away. Would his hands on her be like Cyrus's hands on her?

"What do you mean we misunderstand?" he asked. "Who are your people?"

Her eyes flew open. She shook her head in place of an answer and began soaping her body.  She had to find a way to escape this place before they found out what she was.

His gaze, heated now, followed the path her hands took, leaving a burning trail behind and making her body tighten. "Why were you trying to jump out the windows, then?"

She said nothing, merely scrubbed the soap through her hair, running her fingers over her scalp and massaging away the grit of the last sennight plus a week. She ducked under the water to rinse. When she broke the surface, he was standing.

                                                         * * * * *

"You will answer those questions one day, Raven," Talyn threatened softly.

He let his gaze travel slowly over her body as she rinsed herself free of soap and stood. Her breasts were small and pert, with beautiful hard nipples perfect for flicking with his tongue. Her hair, now clean, was a fall of black silk with purple highlights slicked back from a face with high cheekbones, a full pouty mouth, and a sharp chin. He'd been rock hard since she'd shucked her gown off onto the floor.

He grabbed a towel, wound it around her body and rubbed her dry. Every time he touched her she went still. It wasn't a scared kind of still. It was quite obviously from the look of rapture on her face, an I-want-you-to-touch-me-more kind of still.

Goddess, and did he want to touch her more.

Lord Marken and Lady Sienne had given Raven into his sole care. He didn't understand why. Nordan was in the beginning stages of the preparation for a war. Sudhra to the south threatened them over religious reasons and in greed over Nordan's plentiful spices and silks. He'd told Marken and Sienne that as captain of the castle guard, he had no time to worry over the care and feeding of a wild woman—much less her taming. Marken and Sienne would have none of his arguments. Raven was his project, and no one else's.

They'd told him that if she were amicable to his touch, he should soothe her with his body within hers. It was said a man's seed could calm an out-of-control woman. Although, now, docile and sweet as she was in his arms, she hardly seemed out-of-control…and she definitely seemed amicable to his touch.

He let his hands massage her breasts through the towel, feeling the hard peaks of her nipples against his fingers. She let out a small sigh and her eyelids fluttered shut—small signs that she enjoyed his touch as much as he enjoyed touching her. He let his hands trail down her stomach, around her waist and over her buttocks.

There seemed to be some kind of energy between them when they touched. A gentle vibration thrummed deep in his blood whenever his bare skin met hers.

He pulled the towel away and he cupped her chin. Her eyes came open. "There's something about touching you, Raven. What is it? Why do you feel different than other women?"

"I…don't know. You feel different to me as well." She bit her bottom lip and he focused on her small white teeth and the bit of succulent looking pink flesh caught between them. All he wanted was to throw her down and slide his rigid cock between her slick folds and ease his painfully hard length within her. It would not be right, however. She was a captive, helpless. He'd be taking advantage of her. Goddess, she seemed innocent. Perhaps she was even a virgin.

"I'll get the fresh gown I brought you," he murmured, releasing her and turning away.

Water splashed and something whooshed past him. He knew without turning what had happened. He ran to the door and slammed a palm against it, pushing it closed just as she'd managed to open it. The front of his body pressed up against the full length of the back of her naked one. He dropped his head, placing his mouth to the delicate shell of her ear. "Going somewhere?"

Her breath came in short little gasps, probably from fear. The vibration they shared heightened considerably when so much of their bodies made contact. It thrummed through him, tightening his cock, priming him for her, tensing his muscles through his arms, shoulders, and chest.

She turned and he let her. It broke their contact and the vibration lessened, but did not fade. He kept his hand palm-flat against the door to prevent her from trying to escape. Having her but a breath's space away from him, looking up at him with those luminous, vulnerable, and beautiful eyes, it was all too easy to imagine her under him on a bed, wrapping those long legs around him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he eased himself in and out of her tight, wet slit.

"I am captain of the castle guard for a reason. Did you think you'd escape me that easily?" he asked.

She wet her lips, her small, pink tongue darting out momentarily and leaving him with the luscious fantasy of catching it between his own lips. "I had hoped," she murmured.

He slid his hand to her bare waist, immediately feeling the light hum of their connection, merely as a way to gauge her reaction to his touch. She tipped her head back and released a sigh. He leaned down and found her ear. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the whorls down to her lobe and sucked it. "Desperation becomes you," he whispered. "Especially when it puts you naked and in my arms."

She relaxed against him, her fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck and tangling in it. He breathed her in, smelling the soft lavender-scented cleanliness of her skin and enjoying the constant hum of their contact. He released his hold on the door and wound his other arm around her waist. The other, more secret parts of her body beckoned and he wanted so much to let his hands explore, but she was not ready for such contact.

Like an untried youth, he gritted his teeth against the temptation. For some unfathomable reason this woman gave him a carnal hunger like he'd never experienced. It was as though he didn't have his pick of women in the castle to choose from and Raven was the only one.

Allowing his lips to skim over the still damp skin of her chin and cheek, he sought her mouth. His lips brushed hers gently, and then sought a hungrier contact. Her hand slipped between their bodies and pushed, and her knee came up and connected with his solar plexus in the same smooth movement. The air whooshed out of him and sharp pain blossomed. He doubled over, holding his stomach and thanking the Goddess she hadn't aimed lower.

She went for the door and, still doubled over, he reached out and caught her wrist. "I don't think so," he ground out.

She tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp, attempting to open the door with her other hand. A desperate keening sound issued from her throat. Talyn straightened and yanked her back away from the door with one movement and into his arms—like some strange dance step.     

"You try my patience, Raven," he said. But with a helpless sounding whimper, she had gone passive against him. Her struggles ceased, and she merely tucked her head in the crook between his shoulder and chin and remained still, her breath hot and harsh against his neck. He almost forgave her for the knee to the stomach.

A night wrap lay over a chair near him. He reached out and caught it up, then pulled it over her shoulders. With a couple murmured words of encouragement, he guided her toward the chair by the fire. He spotted a comb on the way, and moved to pick it up, intending to untangle her wet hair. As soon his body separated from hers, she whirled on him, catching the short sword sheathed at his side. With a ringing hiss it came free of its scabbard. 

She angled the blade out in front of her, both hands on the grip. "Don't touch me," she snarled. "Get out and leave me alone."

Talyn raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. She made an entrancing picture, wet, naked, and wielding a blade. He raised an eyebrow. "Fine, I'll leave…for now. But you can forget about me not touching you. Touching you is all I want to do."

She took a step closer, making a slicing motion through the air with the blade. "Do it your own risk." Her voice quavered. "I'm not here to be your personal toy. Cyrus tried to use me that way too."

Talyn shook his head, "I'm not Cyrus." He stepped forward until the blade touched his throat. "And you don't fool me, Raven. You couldn't cut me. It isn't in your nature."

She pressed and a drop of hot blood welled and traveled down his throat. "Assumptions can be deadly."

Talyn spoke the truth from his heart. "Then do it, Raven. I don't care. Cut my throat and you'll have your freedom. There's no one to stop you on the other side of that door, and I don't have anything to lose by dying."

Her gaze darkened and darted from his face to the door and back again. She stared into his eyes and he watched her gaze harden. For a moment he really thought she would slash his throat. With a strangled cry, she dropped the blade to the floor and turned away from him.

Talyn reached down and sheathed his sword. He stood for a moment watching her delicate shoulders shake as she cried. He took a step toward her, but decided the last thing she wanted was comfort from her captor and left the room, locking the door from the outside. Until he knew more about this woman, and knew she would not hurt herself if set free, there would be no way he'd let her go.

                                                         * * * * *

Rue finished rubbing his horse down and, after one last check of the hunting equipment secured in a bundle at the base of a nearby tree, turned toward the fire in the center of his campsite. Flames licked the black air and sent sparks up into the star-strewn sky. A breeze blew through the treetops, making them creak and sway and causing the rustling sounds of leaves to join with the crack and snap of the fire. Rue closed his eyes and inhaled the scents of pine, earth, and fresh, fresh air.

His traveling companion, Gavin, rested against a fallen log, one long leg outstretched, the other bent at an angle. They'd met each other where the borders of Kappan and Sinha Priestdoms touched, both traveling the dusty road south from Sudhra into Nordan to the north. They'd decided to travel together to share the spoils of their hunting and for a bit of company.

Rue walked over to the campfire, his boots crunching on the rock and gravel-strewn area, and picked up a joint of rabbit that had been cooking over the fire. He sat down and bit into it, savoring the salty, sweet meat that filled his mouth. 

"So you never said exactly why you're heading up to Marken's Lorddom," Gavin said by way of inquiry.

Rue swallowed his mouthful and met Gavin's clear brown gaze. Gavin had seemingly honest eyes, but Rue didn't trust anybody…ever. "There might be something there I need to have," he answered simply. He wasn't about to divulge his secrets and plans to this man. "Why are you headed up there?" he asked so Gavin didn't probe any more into his own affairs.

Gavin heaved a sigh and looked up to the treetops. "When I heard about Lord Cyrus being killed in Marken's Lorddom and how his men battled with Cyrus's thanes, I knew then that Sudhra would wage war against Nordan. "

Rue took a bite of rabbit and spoke around it. "So, what? You're fleeing?" He didn't bother to keep the derision from his voice. He tossed the rabbit haunch, now gleaned of all its meat, into the fire where it popped and snapped.

The other man turned his head and gazed at him coolly. For the first time, Rue saw a hint of the icy steel that lay beyond the other man's seemingly amiable exterior. "I'm not fleeing," he answered evenly. "I don't fear battle. I just decided I was on the wrong side, that's all. I'm going to Nordan to fight. If you have a problem with that, we can part ways now."

Rue held up his hands. "All right. I'm sorry I misjudged you. I'm offering Lord Marken my services as well." He shrugged. "I'll fight for Sudhra, Nordan, for whatever nobleman will pay the most for my skills."

Rue looked into the fire and went silent. Like Gavin, he, too, had decided to travel to Nordan after hearing of Lord Cyrus's untimely demise. Rue knew that Cyrus had been in the northern reaches of Nordan looking for something, a thing Rue also coveted. Had Cyrus found it? Was it still in the northern forests? Could it be residing in Marken's Lorddom even now? Rue didn't know.

The hilt of his hunting knife jabbed into his waist and Rue pulled it free. The wickedly sharp edge of it glinted in the firelight. He laid it on the ground in front of him. 

All he knew was that he'd find it, master it, and possess it. No matter the cost.

                                                         * * * * *

Talyn knocked on Raven's door. Over his arm hung a gown he'd had made for her. During the past week Raven had been subdued and uncommunicative—as determined as ever to keep her secrets. Haeffen, Lord Marken's chief adviser, had been scouring the old texts for some hint of her origins, but had found nothing thus far.  Talyn had decided it was time to lay to rest the negativity that existed between them and had brought a peace offering.

Raven called out and he entered. He walked into the room and stopped short, memories of long ago, when he'd been a captive here, flooding through him. She sat on the bed, propped up with pillows and her long legs tucked beneath her. Her skin had been growing paler with every passing day over the last week. A vacant expression oftentimes shone in her eyes. Now she stared at the fire and did not even note his entrance. 

He knew how she felt, what she was thinking. When it had been himself locked away in this castle as a child, he'd wanted nothing more than to feel the sun on his face, the wind in his hair. He'd known that longing to the center of his bones. Talyn felt a strange kind of attraction to her that had less to do with sex and more to do with the commonality of their pasts. Talyn had been thinking more about his shadowed, mysterious past than ever in his life since Raven had arrived. She'd inadvertently brought all the ghosts out from the shadows to wreak their havoc.

He cleared his throat and she turned to look at him listlessly, a blank expression on her face. 

Jerking his head to the side, he indicated her untouched breakfast. "Why do you not eat?"

She shrugged. "I haven't been hungry."

Goddess, she looked like she'd lost weight and with such a slender body, that was not a healthy thing. Talyn knew what she needed to the center of his being. He hesitated for a moment, and then walked toward her. "Come with me."

Her brows furrowed in bewilderment. "Where?"

"Let's take a walk, just you and me. It's beautiful outside today. Spring is here and all the snow has melted. Flowers are poking their head through Aran's soil, and you could use a little wind blowing through that fall of hair of yours."

Hope blossomed on her face, but was quickly supplanted by suspicion. "Aren't you afraid I'll escape?"

"Oh, you might try, but you won't succeed. Not with me by your side." He extended his hand.

For a few moments, she regarded his hand as though it were a snake, then unfurled her legs from beneath her and climbed off the bed. "Fine. Just don't touch me."

He offered the gown. "I've brought you a present."

She eyed the clothing. "Why did you do such a thing? Lady Sienne has presented me with many gowns."

"I wanted you to have something I'd given you."

"Thank you," she said quietly. A trace of a smile touched her lips. She reached out to touch the soft material, then snatched her hand back. She gazed up at him warily. "Lay it on the bed."

 He did so, and she pulled her gown over her head, letting it settle to the floor at her feet. Firelight licked at her luscious round breasts and dark nipples, and cast long shadows on her stomach, hips, and buttocks.

Talyn swallowed. Goddess but he wanted her. She was like some forbidden piece of fruit he could never taste. He wanted to tumble her down on the bed right now, spread her legs and lick her clit until she shuddered in release beneath him.

She caught the gown off the bed with a smooth movement and slipped it over her head. The green flax-cloth was nearly transparent, showing the dark shadow of her areolas and revealing the hills and valleys of her body. The hem and the edges of the sleeves were edged in gold.

"It matches your eyes," he pointed out.

"It's beautiful, but what do I do with these?" She flapped her arms, indicating the sleeves that had an extra length of material attached to the back of the cuff, which were so long they touched the floor.

He picked them up and brought them around to her back. "It's a fashion for ladies here in Marken's Lorddom. They're called angel wings." He fastened the material to small buttons at the small of her back, completing the effect.

"W…wings?"

"Aye. See how your hands and arms are free to move, but at the same time your sleeves are attached to the back of the dress?"

"Yes."

"Wings."

"Oh." Raven flapped her arms. "Not as good as the real thing."

Talyn laughed. "Probably not. Doubt we'll ever know. Now, shall we show your gown off to the rest of the castle?" Unthinkingly, he took her by the elbow. The vibrational response always present when they touched sang lightly through his blood.

She gasped and pulled free of him. "Don't touch me."

"All right. I'm sorry. I won't touch you, as long you don't try anything while we're on our walk. Agreed?"

She eyed him warily. "Agreed."

He walked to the door. "Then let's go."

He ushered her out the room and Raven squinted at the bright light of early afternoon. He led her down the corridors that would take them out of the castle and into the inner bailey. As they walked, their feet crushed the haffberry rushes, sending up a sweet scent. The sunlight lit the gray stone walls and the unlit tapers in their scones. Talyn showed her different parts of the castle, and explained what life in Nordan was like.

Men, Talyn noticed uneasily, watched Raven wherever they went. Some emotion close to anger rose up in him every time a man looked at her with a covetous expression on his face. When he examined that unfamiliar emotion closer and discovered it was jealousy, he was not happy.

Why should he feel jealous over this woman? She was not his to feel thus about. Why should he even want her when he had more than enough access to women as it was? Talyn pushed a hand through his hair in frustration.

The open double doors leading to the inner bailey came into view. "Oh, sweet Aran," Raven breathed beside him. He looked over at her and saw that she'd stopped in the middle of the corridor and closed her eyes. Her arms stretched out on either side of her, she took deep breaths of the sweet spring air that gusted through the doors into her lungs.  The breeze molded her gown to her body, showing it in nice detail.

Talyn took several steps toward her before he'd realized he'd done it. When he was a breath's space from her, her eyes popped open. She took a step back and then another until she was against the stone wall behind her. He put his hands on either side of her head. His chest almost brushed her nipples and he watched, fascinated, as they hardened at the near contact. He bent his head and brought his lips close to hers.  She exhaled and he caught her breath against his lips.

"You said you wouldn't touch me," she said shakily.

"I'm not touching you, Raven. I'm only thinking about touching you and wondering what your sweet clit and passage taste like." His eyes flicked down. "Not to mention your nipples."

She exhaled again. This time there was a catch in her throat. Her eyes darkened with something Talyn knew well—desire. His cock grew harder at the sight.

He pushed away from the wall and dragged a ragged breath into his lungs. "Come on."

Tentatively, she picked her way around him and walked toward the door.

                                                         * * * * *

The fresh air bathed her flushed face and calmed her blood. Still, Raven's hands trembled from her close contact with Talyn. Every night since they'd nearly kissed she'd dreamt of him. In those dreams he worked her body like it was a musical instrument, drawing sounds of passion from her throat. She'd awoken drenched in perspiration, her core throbbing with need, her nipples so hard they hurt. Every time he touched her, she wanted more from him. But she would not present her body like a gift to the man who kept her imprisoned.

Her eyes darted around the place he'd called the inner bailey. Always she searched for a hill, an incline, a window, anywhere steep enough that she could launch herself into the air and let her wings unfurl. Only tall stone walls met her gaze everywhere she looked. A well stood in the center of the sand strewn ground and men led horses from the gates leading to the outer bailey to the stables.

Talyn came to stand next to her.

"Grass? Flowers? Are any near here?" She hated the desperation in her voice.

"This way."

She followed him around the corner of the castle and a garden met her searching gaze. It stretched the entire southern side of the castle. She knelt in the thick grass and brushed her fingertips over the new spring blooms that shivered delicately in the air.

He knelt beside her. "You greet the flowers cordially."

She shot him a sharp look. "I am used to being close to nature and do not deal well with captivity. Especially when I have done nothing wrong. Nothing except be abducted, abused, and forced to watch my only living relative die."

"I am sorry about your grandmother."

Raven picked at the grass and blinked back tears.

"You are only being held so that you will not hurt yourself. I need to know where you come from, Raven, so that we may help you get back to your people. You must admit you have treated us more as enemies than as friends. Believe me, we are friends."

Friends. Her people, the Aviat, had no friends. They only had hunters. Her entire race had been hunted to extinction. With herself, the Aviat died, according to Grandmother. "You know not what you say," she replied bitterly.

"I do. I, too, was a captive here once, much like you. I was young. I had only about six years behind me. But I remember being locked here vividly. I also sought any method of escape, and fought those who would have prevented me from endangering myself."

She looked at him. "Where did you come from and how did you come to be here?"

Talyn shrugged. "I don't know. Lord Marken's foster father Lord Fallon found me while he was hunting in the forest. It was late fall. I was locked in a cage and half-starved. My captors lay dead about half a mile away, slaughtered by a band of thieves. Lord Fallon brought me back here and Haeffen, Marken's advisor, took care of me like I am taking care of you."

"You don't remember your family? Your people?"

"No."

"And you stayed here?"

"I had no where else to go, Raven. I did not speak Nordanese, though I do not know what I spoke. I was so traumatized by what my abductors had done that I lost both my memory and my language. I suspect those men killed my family, though." 

She looked down at the grass. "Then you and I have some things in common," she said softly.

"Hold your palm up, Raven."

She looked up him. "Why?"

"I won't touch you. Just hold it up."

She complied and he placed his palm as close as he could to hers without touching it. She noted how small her hand looked compared to his. The vibration crackled and danced between their hands, massaging her skin with restrained energy.

He caught and held her gaze. "Aye, I'd say we've got some things in common."

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