“We’ll have to muzzle it in some manner. I don’t want it to attack you or any of the crew.”
Camryn shuddered. “I keep thinking about the men who died across the river. I’d hate to have a repeat of that.”
Ry recalled the screams from the victims, the savage yips from hell-horses. The carnage. Camryn mustn’t die because of his need to best Talor.
The next morning Camryn woke with memories of hangovers past
tap-tap-tapping
on her brain. Her head pounded with the hoof beats of a dozen horses and…and she was blind! Panic roared through her until she realized her lashes were stuck together.
Ow, ow
, her eyelashes hurt. One eyelid lifted, then shut immediately in self-defense. So bright. Too bright. She became aware of the warmth scorching her naked back while her bare breasts prickled, icy cool. In desperate need of a drink, she struggled to a sitting position.
“Oh god,” she murmured, holding her head between her hands.
“Camryn.” The husky voice drew her unwilling attention. Part of her had known she shouldn’t touch the drink Ry had offered her, but she’d gone ahead anyway. From the dim recesses of her mind she recalled laughing and kissing and um…quite a bit more as well.
“Camryn.”
This time something in his tone made her turn to face him. She gasped. “The tattoo on your chest has changed. It’s more defined.” Hell, it hurt to speak—no croak—and the sound of her own voice made those horses break into a gallop.
“You have a tattoo on your back.” The shock in his voice told her he spoke the truth.
“It doesn’t hurt. I mean I don’t feel anything. Where is it?” She tried to look at her back and the maneuver speared slivers of pain to her brain.
“On your shoulder.” Ry smoothed his hand over her right shoulder blade.
“Don’t…don’t touch me.” Camryn jerked from his touch and the combination of pleasure and pain ceased. The hoof beats in her head were muted now and more in line with a normal hangover. She knew about those, had plenty of experience.
“It’s a cat,” he whispered, shock lacing his voice. “I don’t understand.”
The others started to stir. Camryn grabbed her clothes and turned her back on him to dress. Ry watched her the entire time. She felt it, fingers clumsy in her self-consciousness. The spot he’d touched on her shoulder itched beneath her tunic.
Rustling clothes behind her indicated Ry was dressing. The instinct to turn and watch almost got the better of her. Almost.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Mogens said, coming from inside the tender. Camryn noted his clear disapproval before he lifted his head to scan the angry green clouds low on the horizon. His face darkened rapidly. “Bad tidings in the clouds.”
Camryn fidgeted, her shoulder itchy and irritable beneath her clothes, the sullen
trot-trot-trot
in her head adding to her misery.
Tsking, Mogens studied her instead. “What is wrong with you, child? Have you been bitten by an insect?”
“Um no.” A weird sort of insect to leave tattoos while a person slept.
“Let me see,” Mogens said. “The last thing we need is for our trainer to become ill.”
“Show Mogens.” Ry’s soft voice came from behind. It wasn’t a request.
Camryn turned her back and allowed Mogens to lift her shirt. Chill bumps chased across her skin, blown by the cool morning breeze.
A hiss escaped the seer. “Ry, I told you to leave her alone. Too late now.” His eyes rolled back in his head and his high-pitched voice danced up and down in a singsong pattern. “The ghost walks beside you still. He has not left and will not leave while you need him. Bad day. Bad tidings.”
“What…what are you talking about?” Camryn glanced wildly at Ry, the sudden movement stabbing pain through her temples.
“Mogens, stop. You’re scaring her,” Ry said.
“You,” Mogens hissed, still in a singsong voice. His face bled from gray to inky black, the color of Ry’s hair. “You let your basic desires out of your britches.”
Ry snorted and snapped his fingers in front of Mogens face. The seer blinked, his eyes widened.
The sound of slow clapping jolted them all from the trance. “Very nice show,” Jannike mocked. “But we have a hell-horse to catch before the tenders flying overhead find the ones you’ve barricaded in the canyon.”
“Good point,” Ry said.
The roar of a tender overhead hammered home the need for urgency.
Mogens’ hard stare drilled through her. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Camryn sniffed. No way. They wouldn’t discuss anything about ghosts. She’d do the job and they could take her home. Done deal. No discussion required.
* * * * *
Talor’s tender, Ornum.
Talor smiled, sweet anticipation bubbling into a smirk. Thanks to the tracking device planted by Kaya, he’d found Ryman without difficulty. His instinct was to crush them, leaving all to rot in this inhospitable land. He resisted, knowing while it might rid him of his immediate problem, it wouldn’t yield satisfaction. After the problems his brother had caused during the last ten cycles, Talor wanted Ryman to know who killed him and why. He wanted his precious brother to suffer.
And even better, he’d seen a large black cat in the distance. A leopard. Fate. That’s what it was. A sign. His familiar animal had appeared to him. He would succeed now. He’d order his men to capture the creature. A familiar would make his magic strong.
As for his brother, Talor knew the exact pressure to apply once he’d inflicted the first wound. He concentrated, focusing his thoughts and a slender, red-haired woman walked into the room.
“I have need of you.” He pointed to his feet and without a murmur of protest, she knelt before him. Talor smirked at the top of her head, knowing she wouldn’t see his pleasure. Nothing more than a shell these days, Meghan’s mind blended with his like a well-trained slave. Perfection. Just the way a woman should behave. If it weren’t for Ryman, and the fact Meghan had been his brother’s lover, he’d have cast her off long ago. No, he kept her around for sentimental reasons.
The woman lifted his silky robes and crawled beneath, letting them lower again over her body. Competent hands grasped his cock and pumped in the precise manner he liked. A warm mouth slipped over his tip and licked delicately at his slit. Talor clenched his hands, a delicious tension swirling through his stomach—a combination of sexual lust and the knowledge he’d soon crush his darling brother. Heady stuff.
The woman’s tongue lapped across the flared head of his cock and ran her fingers in delicate strokes over his sac. Gradually his balls tightened, drawing tight beneath his cock while her warm, moist mouth sucked. His robe rustled when her head started to bob.
Talor began to thrust in shallow moves, teasing himself because he knew the gradual build of pleasure would feel better than quick gratification. With almost dreamlike movements, he pumped into the warmth of her mouth. With each thrust he moved deeper until the head of his cock struck the back of her throat. The woman stroked his balls and quickened her pace. Talor closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations—the scent of her rosegold perfume and the more basic sexual musk, the soft grunts she made each time he drove into her mouth. And the wet slide of her soft lips across his cock. That was best of all—the way the woman swirled her tongue over the underside of his shaft with just the right pressure. Heat rioted through him and he rocked his pelvis forward. Higher and higher he climbed until the electric feel of orgasm raced up his cock.
“Yes.” His guttural shout heralded the rush of exquisite pleasure. Each tight squeeze of her throat lengthened his enjoyment as he ejaculated into her mouth.
Oh yes. The woman who used to belong to his brother was talented. She laved the head of his cock and gradually eased back, letting his softened flesh slide from her hot mouth.
Talor lifted his robes and glanced down at the woman in a dispassionate manner. “You may go now. Make me a carafe of kafe. Go. Go!”
The woman rose and trotted from the luxurious chamber to the small canteen area. Soon the scent of kafe, rich and dark, flowed into his domain. Relaxed, Talor reclined on his bed and pondered the coming days. His stupid brother had no idea of the power he wielded.
True, his own powers had proved unreliable during the last cycles, but the journey to this convict hellhole had produced a delightful change. Suddenly his powers of compulsion worked with precision. His charms sizzled with magic. If he’d known a trip to convict land would create this miracle he’d have visited long ago. He had enough power to cause chaos with Ryman’s hunt for a hell-horse.
Unfortunately, Ryman seemed immune to his compulsion but his crew were not. He’d show Ryman what it meant to butt heads with the head of the House of the Cat.
By the time he finished, only one Coppersmith brother would remain.
Ry skirted a fallen tree and climbed over another. They’d spent the morning building yards to Camryn’s specifications. Hastily erected, the yards weren’t perfect, but as Camryn pointed out, they didn’t know much about hell-horses. If the creatures could jump, they were in trouble.
Heat beat down from overhead, the humidity unpleasant beneath the trees. Ry’s shirt clung to his damp flesh. Small biting insects flew in their faces, disturbed when they brushed past clumps of leafy red and pink foliage. Camryn walked behind him, and he could hear her soft breathing, smell her natural musk and the cinnamon of the soap he’d lent her for bathing.
Tension tightened his shoulders, worry for Camryn competing with a vague sense of disquiet. He scanned the odd shaped trees and the clearing to their right. The birds remained silent, a warning, which made him listen to his instincts more closely. Every other time they’d left the tender the sound of birdsong had almost deafened them.
The other crewmembers were approaching the horses from different directions. They’d planned to drive them into their yards, releasing all but one back into the wild. Several tenders had flown overhead but none had attempted to interfere with their hunt, yet still Ry’s gut churned.
“At least the wind has changed in our favor,” Camryn murmured behind him.
Ry lifted his head and realized she was right. The robust scent of the hell-horses obliterated every other fragrance. The tang of blood suggested they’d hunted or discovered a fresh carcass. When he cocked his head, he could hear their yaps and squeals of protest while they fought amongst themselves.
They crept closer, Ry’s steps becoming cautious as unease deepened. The path between the gnarly trees widened. Camryn halted beside him, her arm brushing his. He steeled himself not to react.
“I see Jannike,” Camryn said.
“The others are in position. We can move now.”
Camryn grasped his arm to halt him. “How do you know? I can’t see them. How do you know they’re in position? Oh, you’re right. I can see Kaya and Mogens.”
“Which hell-horse do you think we should aim for?”
Camryn studied the creatures before replying. “The smaller one on the left, on the edge of the dust bath. It looks younger. It’s not too small and moves well.” She frowned when a gust of wind brought their scent. “What have they been eating?”
“I’m not sure.” One bore a red muzzle, and Ry didn’t think the animal wore face paint. “They haven’t noticed us yet.”
He signaled Yep and Nanu to circle the creatures. They moved closer. A bird burst from the undergrowth and each of the horses lifted their heads and stood at alert.
“Now!” Ry called.
As one they rushed the horses, making loud noises and whacking leafy branches through the air. A big scarred black hesitated. The hell-horse stirred the dust with one front hoof then dashed over the open ground in the direction they’d hoped.
Ry watched the herd go with grim satisfaction. Now all they had to do was capture one. The crew tore after them, hollering to spook them. To Ry’s relief, this herd didn’t turn on them and attack like the one they’d witnessed across the river.
Camryn raced after the horses in bemusement. They were the ugliest creatures she’d ever seen and didn’t smell much better. She had no idea how they’d react to schooling, but they must be trainable if the planet held regular race meetings. Even their gait seemed awkward—an uneven caper with their forequarters appearing higher than their hindquarters.
“Fan out,” Ry roared.
Physically fitter than she, the crew worked well together. Camryn tried to keep up, but her sides heaved, her lungs burned. The remnants of the hangover still clung, her temples throbbing from the vicious glare of the sun.
“Faster, Camryn. Faster. You’re leaving a gap,” Jannike yelled.
The hell-horses seemed to realize this as well. They swung around, galloping at her with a thunder of hooves. Camryn sprinted to plug the opening, her heart pounding in erratic beats. The largest horse charged, and Camryn froze, fearing the creature intended to run her down.
Camryn, dive into the undergrowth
.
Ry’s clear panic rang inside her head. Confused, she glanced around, and when she turned back, the horse was almost on her. With no time to do anything else, she stood her ground and waved her hands, shouting. “Stop!”
The stench from the creatures surrounded her along with clouds of dust. Her pulse rattled inside her ears. The lead horse pulled to an abrupt halt. The shrewd intelligence in the creature’s eyes made her push all fear aside. The hell-horse snorted and pawed the ground. Sharp yellow teeth glinted in the bright sun.
Camryn’s stomach hollowed, but she shoved aside her dread. Instead, she extended her hand and took a step toward the creature. The herd milled behind the first, uneasiness evident in the way they pranced and yipped.
Camryn advanced another step. “Easy, boy. I’m not going to hurt you. Easy.”
No. Don’t go any closer. Camryn!
Camryn started on hearing Ry’s words in her mind. Imagination. Just another thing to add to a list of weird happenings.
Focus.
She had to do a good job for her brother’s sake. For Ry’s sake.
“That’s it. Steady, boy. I won’t hurt you.”