Oria's Enchantment Read online

  “How long to your mother’s abode?” she finally asked.

  “We’ll be there tonight. A day to persuade her, two days’ journey back, and we’ll return to the temple and Arill City in plenty of time.”

  “Your brother can have you declared dead seven days from when he issued the challenge—that’s only two days of leeway,” she worried.

  “Two days we won’t need,” Lonen replied, as carelessly and confidently optimistic as ever. “Once that’s done, we can end this ridiculous infighting with my family and face our true enemy.”

  “Our wedding won’t guarantee your victory in the duel against Nolan for the throne,” she felt compelled to point out.

  “With my powerful sorceress wife as my second?” He made a scoffing sound. “I cannot lose.”

  If she could wield her magic effectively. “All the more reason for me to practice with the mask.”

  “Later, Oria.” He nearly growled her name, punctuating it with finality. “You’ll mess with that thing in small doses or I’ll melt it in the nearest campfire.”

  The threat sent a pang of panic through her. “Chuffta says it can’t be melted.”

  “Does he now?” Lonen sounded so interested that she realized she’d revealed too much, that he now knew she and her Familiar had been discussing the magical artifact Lonen already mistrusted so greatly. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he continued when she didn’t reply. “The Destrye have long since mastered the art of metal work of all kinds. We no doubt have a kiln that will do the job.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I absolutely would. Make no mistake, Oria—I will destroy that thing rather than lose you to it.”

  She wanted to laugh—even tried to—but made a strained sound instead, so stricken was she by the panic that he’d carry out that threat and she’d lose the mask forever. “You won’t lose me to it,” she replied, loading her tone with scorn to cover the urge to beg him to give it to her. “It’s a tool, nothing more.”

  “Good.” He spoke the word shortly, nearly a grunt. “Then, as with all dangerous tools, you will learn to employ this one carefully and gradually—and under my supervision.”

  She set her teeth, well past annoyed with him, the fury in her heart burning as bright as any kiln. That did it. He didn’t have authority over her. He could take his “supervision” and—

  “Oria—do I have your agreement?”

  “Fine, yes.”

  “Good. Thank you, love.”

  “Do we have time for a rest break?” she asked as smoothly as she could. “I need to visit the woods.”

  “Of course. You have only to say.” Responding to subtle signals, Buttercup eased to a stop. Lonen swung down, offering his hands to help her down, smiling with affection. It might be enough to make her feel guilty for what she was about to do, but not quite. “Can you make it through the snow?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She gave him a dazzling smile, knowing how it affected him; the lazy curl of desire emanating from him warming her. Chuffta followed above as she tromped through the snow, then he perched on a branch to guard her while she did her business. “Is Lonen still with Buttercup?” she asked him.

  He swiveled his head on his long mobile neck, snaking it for the best angle between the interlacing bare branches. “Yes. He’s getting something out of the saddlebags.”

  Couldn’t be the mask. Unless he was making good on his threat to get rid of it. Hurrying, she clambered back through the deep snow. It had a crunchy layer on the top, but the snow was fluffy beneath, so she sank to her knees in places. Good thing she had the tall boots and fur-lined stockings.

  “Hungry?” Lonen asked as she reached firmer ground of the trail. He held out a packet of seeds, dried fruit, and buttery grains—thoughtfully provided just for her. For his part, he chewed on some dried meat.

  “Thank you.” She took it, feeling chagrined at his thoughtfulness. But not enough to go back on her plan. He started to pack things away again. “I can do that,” she offered. “If you need to visit the woods, too.”

  He grinned for her euphemism, and ran a hand down her arm over the cloak. “Do the woods need more visitors?” he teased.

  “You know what I mean,” she replied, more primly than she might have if she hadn’t been mentally urging him to go, afraid that if he delayed he’d see through her subterfuge.

  Hesitating, he frowned a little. “I guess I do feel the need after all. Will you be all right waiting for me?”

  “Of course,” she said brightly, though a sick feeling wormed in her gut. Had she somehow pushed his will? She’d never been able to do that before, but…

  “I’ll be right back, love,” he promised, and cupped her head to kiss her through the furry cloak on the crown of her head.

  Oria watched him go, tension mounting. Moving so Buttercup stood between her and where Lonen had gone, she scrabbled through the open pack, hoping fervently that Lonen had put the mask in that one. Chuffta landed on Buttercup’s saddle, craning his sinuous neck to see. Remaining on alert as Lonen had signaled the warhorse to do, Buttercup ignored them and watched the surroundings.

  “Hurry!”

  “Is Lonen already coming back?”

  “No, but hurry anyway.”

  With a gusty breath of relief, she closed her fingers around the oddly shaped bundle that was Tania’s mask, hard metal within layers of leather, the potent magic of the ancient sorceress singing its siren call of sweet, pure power.

  “Yesss,” Chuffta hissed with metal glee. “Hurryhurryhurry.”

  Her fingers shook, fumbling at the tight leather knots, and she impatiently yanked off her glove with her teeth. The cold air and frozen hard sinew cut into her skin, and she was just about to let Chuffta cut it apart when the knot gave. Tossing the sinews and wrapping to the snow, Oria grasped the smooth gold metal fashioned to look like a blank, eyeless face.

  As it had before, the magic grabbed at her, but she wrangled it this time, not letting it pull her under. Instead she inhaled, absorbed, consumed, gorging on the feast of it.

  So much gorgeous sgath. Sustaining. Nourishing.

  Overwhelming.

  She began to suffocate under the force of it, to choke on the sheer purity of it. It bloated her, stretching her skin to bursting, her magic portals springing leaks. Swirling, she drowned in the rush of it.

  “Oria! Arill take you, come out of it!” Lonen roared in her face, his grip bruising her arms as he shook her.

  The sun scorched her vision, the blue sky and white snow all too bright. She put a hand up to cover her eyes and her fingers skidded wet and sticky with blood, sharp pain spiking.

  “I could throttle you for this,” Lonen grated out.

  “What happened—where are you?” she asked Chuffta.

  “I’m here.” Her Familiar sounded uncharacteristically meek and chastened. “Lonen told me to get lost. He’s mad at me, too.”

  “Me, Oria,” Lonen said with a snarl. “Talk to me, not him. What in Arill’s name made you break your promise?”

  “Extracted under duress!” she fired back. “You do not order me, Destrye.”

  “In this I do. That cursed thing nearly killed you this time.”

  “I almost had it. I just have to learn to handle the mask so that—”

  “Look at your hands.” He glared at her with fury—but also fear and worry, enough to give her pause.

  She looked, shocked to find her hands covered in blood, fresh and wet over caked and brown. Now that she’d regained awareness, her body throbbed with pain, her neck stiff and hair sticky. She put a hand to her ear, fingers coming away with more blood.

  “You were bleeding out of your ears, eyes, nose, and mouth,” Lonen informed her. “Even after I got that thing out of your grip—which ripped the skin off your hands, by the way—you wouldn’t come out of the trance. You weren’t breathing, Oria. Explain to me how that is learning to handle it!” His voice climbed to a shout at the end, his face wild.

&nb
sp; But it was the sheer panic flowing from him that penetrated her indignation. Lonen so rarely showed fear or worried about much at all. Even when any rational person would. She’d managed to terrify her perpetual optimist, a warrior so strong nothing frightened him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, infusing the words with all the sincere regret she could muster. “I was foolish and I won’t do it again.”

  He held her still, looking a bit crazed as he searched her face, then crushed her to him. “I can’t lose you, Oria. It would break me as nothing else could.”

  “I promise I won’t do it again,” she said against him, meaning it with all her heart. Still, she mentally asked Chuffta the question, “Did he try to destroy the mask?”

  “No. It’s in the snow where he threw it.”

  Good. Now to make sure Lonen agreed to wrap it up again and bring it with them.

  ~ 2 ~

  “Absolutely not.” Lonen folded his arms, staring Oria down. She’d scrubbed all the blood off with snow, giving her face a pink-cheeked glow, her bright copper eyes snapping at him.

  Her physical injuries had turned out to be minor, which would be a good thing except that she’d rebounded so quickly. And now she crackled with magic, her copper hair lifting in the unseen currents of it as she faced him, a stubborn look on her lovely face. She might be small and delicate in build, but the magic snarling around her made him cautious. He didn’t think she’d use that magic to attack him. Then again, he hadn’t thought she’d break her promise either.

  “I’ll keep the mask with me,” she repeated.

  “You’re lucky I’ve agreed to wrap it up again and stow it in the bags.” He finished that wrapping, hating the metallic glint of the thing with every fiber of his being.

  Oria stepped close, as if to snatch it from him, and he held it out of her reach. She had too much pride to jump for it, but the air between them thickened, almost seeming to produce sparks from nothing.

  “Don’t do it, Oria,” he said softly, though he didn’t know how he’d stop her if she did.

  “I’m not doing anything,” she replied evenly.

  Ha to that. “I can feel you inside me,” he reminded her. “Your magic snarling, sizzling. Would you strike me down, love? Because of that mask?”

  “Because you’re not my lord and master, barbarian,” she replied with heat. “I’m not a helpless, captive Báran bride and you’d do well to remember that.”

  As if he could ever forget. It made him want to laugh, so he let it out, a hearty release that had her blinking at him in shock. “Oh, my copper-haired beauty, I am more like to forget my own name than the power of the witch I brought home from war and installed in my bed.” He deliberately dropped his voice as he said it, to remind her of what they shared together. It worked, too, her anger turning into another kind of heat. “Nor do I forget how to tame her,” he added, not above goading her, especially if it distracted her.

  “Not fair,” she hissed at him, clenching her small fists by her sides. “Don’t you dare bring sex into this.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up,” he replied with an easy smile, picturing her naked, tied up and tossed over his shoulder, hoping she’d pluck the image from his mind. She must have, because she made an incoherent sound of frustration, with a nicely sensual edge to it. Working quickly, he secured the last knot and stowed the mask deeply in the saddlebag, wedging in everything he could fit on top of it. Not that he’d leave her alone with it again. “Ready to go?” he asked, turning his back to her.

  Without waiting for her response, he lifted her onto Buttercup’s back, then swung up behind her. They practiced the maneuver so often that they immediately and smoothly nestled together. At least their bodies were in complete harmony. Even blisteringly angry with him, Oria leaned into him without hesitation.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Perfectly fine,” she retorted, so fast he’d know it for the lie that it was even if he couldn’t see the shadows under her eyes, through her waxy, translucent skin, and the too-glassy look in her eyes. She still sparked with jittering energy, the way some warriors did when they fought too long on too little sleep: running on purely manic energy that eventually buried them.

  Oria had told him early on that her peculiar nature made her oversensitive. Without a way to bleed off magical energy, it crackled and fried inside her, hollowing her out into exhaustion. Well, he might not know magic, but he knew how to help her relax. He slipped a hand inside her cloak, cupping the luscious globe of her breast—then pinched the nipple that eagerly rose to his touch.

  “My tame witch,” he murmured in her ear when she gasped. “You are more than fine.”

  “I’m not a witch,” she replied tightly, but she also pressed her breast into his hand, though perhaps unaware of it—or of how she pushed her tight little bottom against his crotch.

  “You admitted it last night. Remember?”

  “Lonen…” She spoke his name on a helpless breath, her body growing hotter against him. Oh yes, she remembered, just as he did.

  “You said you were my tame witch because you need this.” She wore layers of skirts and petticoats, but he knew his way through them. Giving Buttercup the signal to continue on, Lonen secured the reins to drape loosely and slipped his other hand to the thin layer of fine cloth between her spread thighs. The fur-lined stockings tied high on her legs kept her plenty warm, as did all the heavy layers, but very little shielded her open sex. She burned hot and wet against his hand as he cupped her mound, her sweetly plump sex filling his palm.

  She moaned and sagged against him. “Lonen… please,” she said on a sighing mewl of pleasure. She put her gloved hand over his, but didn’t pull his hand away from her intimate flesh, instead rocking her hips against the light pressure—and consequently against his trapped and turgid cock. “Anyone could see,” Oria said, though she had her eyes closed, shivering with arousal.

  He laughed, not heartily this time, hearing the huskiness of desire in it, and working his fingers against her, knowing exactly how she liked it. “There’s leagues of empty landscape all around with no one to see or hear. You could scream your pleasure if you like,” he suggested. He loved it when she forgot herself enough in desire to sob his name like a prayer.

  “I won’t.” But the words came out uncertain as she panted, squirming against his pinning hand.

  “You did last night,” he crooned into her ear. “Over and over. You begged me.”

  She didn’t reply. Even Oria couldn’t argue with that truth. He’d driven her wild, driven them both into a frenzy. She’d worn the crimson velvet gloves and he used his leather ones to torment every part of her, determined not to leave even so much as a fingertip of skin that he hadn’t thoroughly possessed. Those firelit memories swamped him, lurid and sensual, both of them naked but for the gloves they each wore, how he’d stared into her eyes as he used his leather-covered fingers to penetrate her. How she’d come apart, calling his name.

  With a sharp cry she barely stifled, she came against his hand, a wrenching convulsion that had her arching, thighs tensing as she shuddered helplessly. He held her through it, pushing her harder and higher, murmuring wicked things in her ear, until she sagged against him, boneless and unresisting.

  “That’s better,” he said softly, kissing her hair. Clean now, and hot from the sun, it tasted sweet.

  “What is?” she asked, her voice vague.

  “You needed to relax.”

  “You can’t use sex to handle me, Lonen,” she said, though she sounded more sleepy than anything, languid in his arms.

  “You’re welcome to use the same techniques on me. ’Tis a time-honored tradition between lovers.” He shifted behind her, adjusting the hard thrust of his cock, quite painful now that he wasn’t distracted. “Though perhaps not now.”

  “Still sore?” she asked, sounding entirely unsympathetic, even giggling softly.

  “Yes, witch.” It wasn’t funny at all to the posse
ssor of the cock rubbed raw by her gloves. “Lesson learned that though velvet gloves seem soft, the eventual chafing puts the lie to that.”

  Her giggles rang out in girlishly light, even giddy notes, doing a great deal to lighten his own heart. “There was a definite resemblance in color,” she pointed out pertly.

  “Sure, laugh,” he grumbled. “It’s already less painful. Tonight you’ll be making it up to me.”

  “Not at your mother’s house,” she said without missing a beat.

  “My mother did conceive and bear four children,” he commented, teasing her. “I expect she knows what people get up to in bed.”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t need us doing that sort of thing under her roof,” she answered in a prim tone. “I’d like to make a good impression.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said. He must’ve sounded gruff because she leaned back to look at him in that assessing way that meant she read his thoughts. He offered her a smile, though it felt false even to himself. No need to get into ancient history. “To answer your earlier question, my mother will agree to sponsor our marriage to the temple, but she won’t be doing it because of any impression you make. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

  “I don’t understand.” Oria frowned, then yawned.

  “No, I imagine not. But you’ll see.” He set his jaw and lifted his gaze to the peaks ahead. “She owes me.”

  Oria fell asleep soon after that. She would have done so long before, if that Arill-cursed mask hadn’t had her so obsessed. The magic infusion had helped her immensely, but Oria had a long recovery ahead of her and she needed rest to heal her emaciated body as much as she needed the right food and nourishing magic.

  He’d regret having kept her awake so much of the night with their lovemaking, if that too didn’t have such a salutary effect on her. She might not even be aware of how much that affected her, both energizing and soothing her. Oria might make acerbic comments about him controlling her access to the mask and how she used her magic, but he’d begun to wonder if he didn’t have a larger role to play in her sorcery than either of them had imagined.