“We’ve already mentioned that we are passing through, had just finished a contract.” He dipped his head, as if to nuzzle at her neck. Doing so let him glance to the side and he could see them now, two men, just as Tyriel had said, neither of them so brazen as to call attention to it, but both watching Aryn and the woman he had pinned against the town’s protective outer wall.
She shivered as he skimmed a hand up her arm, the lower half bared, revealing taut, firm muscle. He felt that nearly imperceptible reaction all the way to his toes and before he knew what he was doing, he moved closer. She smelled divine and felt even better, lusciously female but supple and strong.
He’d been telling himself for weeks that he’d only been craving a taste because he’d gone too long without a woman, but now that he had his hands on her, he knew it for the lie it was.
But Aryn didn’t fuck sword mates.
Oh, but he wanted a taste of her.
Another taste…the gruff murmur came from the back of his mind, a mind now overflowing with images of them together, bodies naked and entwined, her dusky skin glowing in the firelight as he kissed a path down her torso, all the way to the curls to that would guard the sweet, wet delights between her thighs.
She felt right in his arms, familiar even, like he had lain against her before, scented her skin as arousal burned hot within her, tasted her mouth as she cried out her need, held her quivering body against his while she dug her nails into his flesh.
“What all does your plan entail? We split up? Look for short contracts or daily work?” He forced his mind to think about the task at hand.
“No. We stay together.”
He turned his head toward hers and their lips brushed. Aryn barely held his composure, fisting the hand braced on the wall near her head as she continued to speak. Averting his head slightly, he waited. This was bloody torture.
“If we’re thought to be together, most of the people here will assume I follow your lead. That means they’ll be more likely to discount me. The less they think about me, the better.” The warm caress of her breath on his skin felt almost as intimate as if she had run her hands over his body.
Aryn gritted his teeth as his cock swelled in response.
“Excellent point,” he agreed, straightening and trying to think in logistical terms instead of lustful ones. If they kept her gifts quiet, that meant a weapon none knew about. She had wrapped and stowed her blade, and none could possibly imagine how many numerous weapons she had hidden on her person.
Aryn swore silently.
He imagined he could find them—piece by piece as he stripped her naked. The dusky gold of her skin gleamed richly and she winked at him before nudging him back.
“I thought perhaps we could talk to the pub owner. I play rather well. See if he’d be open to me put out my cap for a few nights—I can play for coin while you have your dinner. We could have a few days to rest before we continue on our journey west.” Her eyes told him what she held back.
She would play. He would listen. And they would see if they couldn’t unearth the secrets in this village.
Still close enough to feel her body weight, Aryn nodded. “A good plan. When do we start?”
“Now.” Her cheeks were flushed. Lifting her hands, she braced them on his chest.
Aryn caught her wrists and held them, gaze riveted on her face.
“Pretty thing, the Jiupsu women have always been lovely.”
Irian’s presence was unwelcome and Aryn floundered, caught in a web of desire. Be silent, he thought.
But the enchanter wasn’t in a mood to listen. “Take her upstairs, touch her, taste her.”
“Shut up, you hunk of metal,” Aryn warned, putting more weight in his warning. “Or I will wrap you in silk and stow you under the bloody bed.”
Irian laughed. “Won’t do you much good now. You’ve opened your mind to me. Close me out, you can, but removing me from your body does nothing,” the ancient one said, his voice rich with amusement. “You’ve been too long without a woman, Aryn. And you’ve never known one like her, addictive as mead, rich as honey, spicy and hotter than fire. Let’s have her now.”
Aryn’s blood pounded heavily in his cock, his head. He already ached, but Irian’s seductive voice was making it worse, and Tyriel wasn’t helping, leaning against the village wall and watching him. He still held her wrists and they felt bewitchingly delicate, skin soft and smooth under his touch. Her eyes burned as they stared into his.
Aryn took back the distance he’d put between them, looming over her now and breathing her in.
“She will taste so much better than she smells, brother of my soul,” Irian promised. “Taste her…”
Taste her. Just a taste. That was all he wanted.
Dipping his head, he closed one hand around the thick weight of her hair and tugged.
Just before his lips would have brushed hers, Tyriel stiffened. The glint in her eyes faded and she shoved him back, this time with force and Aryn felt back several paces, the strength in her undeniable.
“You are not yourself, Aryn,” she said, her voice ragged. Her nostrils flared.
Aryn could scent of her arousal, knew she could detect his.
“I am.” His head did feel a bit…crowded, but he had wanted her for weeks, months, a lifetime.
When he would have come to her again, Tyriel held up a hand, staying him. “Enchanter, you hold much sway over his mind right now. I feel it.”
Aryn shook his head in confusion as she lapsed into a lyrical tongue—Wildling—but too archaic for him to follow and the ghost that lived within him wasn’t in the sharing mood.
He felt Irian’s rage, his refusal, his will trying to rise up. Pictures that didn’t make sense filled his mind—Tyriel, lying on the forest floor while he spread her thighs, her woman’s flesh, and tasted her. Him moving to cover her, riding her hard as she whimpered her pleasure.
Over it all, the ghost of another man tried to superimpose himself over Aryn’s body, as if trying to take Aryn’s place entirely.
Why did it feel like memory and not fantasy?
Irian reared up, tried to force his will onto Aryn and the bastard almost won—not because Aryn couldn’t fight him, but because they both wanted the same thing. To take Tyriel, haul her back to their room over the pub, lock the door behind them before stripping her naked.
Fighting the will of the enchanter was never easy, but now, when what Irian wanted so perfectly aligned with Aryn’s own desires, it felt almost impossible.
His cock still ached, but a vicious pain began to pulse inside his head as he battled Irian back.
“Stop fighting, brother,” Irian said coaxingly. “Let us touch, taste…”
Aryn clenched his jaw and fought harder as he tried to retain control over his body and his mind.
Tyriel’s voice cut through the dull roar of blood.
“Eyastian, Irian. Myiori, tymio efavo.”
“You would not dare,” Irian growled, surging up to take control, forcing the words out through Aryn’s mouth even as Aryn seized control over his body and backed up, putting enough distance between them so her scent no longer flooded his head.
Irian continued to use his body like a bloody puppet, words he barely understood flowing from him as he glared at Tyriel.
“You break our law by even speaking to me so, woman. I am Irian Escari, High Priest of the Jiupsu, Enchanter, Swordsman. You would not dare—”