Passion of the Different (5 page)

After what seemed like an impossibly long time, his body relaxed. The waves subsided to be replaced by an aura of intense calm. The feel of her under him, now a part of him, called to his spirit in a loving whisper.
You are the one
.

Her relaxing metabolism granted the mercy of not being pleasured to death, and her whole being was suffused with an incredible glow, an inner warmth that was born of their passion. She was utterly spent and her spirit soared with him on top of her. Whatever magic this was, she didn't want it to end.

He looked down into her eyes, taking the weight off of her by using his hands to prop himself up. He stayed inside and loved the connection he felt. Her eyes found his, locked gazes with a total understanding that words could not describe. He touched her nose with his, rubbed a moment, then lowered his lips for a fiery kiss. She returned the passionate lip dance, eyes half closed and barely focused, glazed by the pure power of what they unleashed together.

“I love you,” he seriously told her. He meant it and she finally felt it.

“I love you too,” she replied, the musical words flowing in a huskier tone. She hugged him again, tighter than ever before. She buried her lips into his shoulder a moment, rocking him for a few seconds. Surprised at the strength of her affection, he gladly returned the happy hug, then when they released each other, they ended up side by side with interlocked legs. Eyes filled with passion and sharing their afterglow, they regarded each other in pure joy. She loved his chiseled features and he adored her exotic beauty.

She pressed her forehead against his suddenly, noses almost touching with both hands framing his face, and whispered, “Lord Za'Ryan of House Ven'Krue, will you marry me?”

His ice blue eyes twinkled while love and excitement danced together across his features, and his own hands framed her face and he whispered back, hoping he used the words in the right order. “I will gladly marry you, Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue, with all my heart, soul and body.” Then they kissed and their passion reignited with shocking ease. It was a long time before they could bring themselves to stop.

The next morning, they watched the sunrise together behind their home while holding each other. Just as it was half risen on the horizon, she said her vows. “Lord Za'Ryan, from this moment on, you're my husband, my mate, my soul and nothing but death can come between us. I enter House Ven'Krue of my free will and will be everything and anything you want me to be.”

Now it was his turn, as she explained to him the previous night after another passionate round of love making. “Lady Myra, from this moment on, you're my wife, my mate, my soul and nothing but death may come between us. I accept you into House Ven'Krue with my blessings and I will provide everything and anything you wish me to.”

They held onto each other until the sun broke free of the horizon on its journey upwards, the symbolic start of a new marriage with her people. He highly approved actually, though his own people would have done this differently, he was sure. Keeping it to her culture made it feel complete for her. He wouldn't have it any other way as he felt complete as well. Slightly less than a year, and the woman who overcame her fear of the unknown, found him and offered assistance through compassion was now his loving wife. He felt light-headed, almost dizzy with happiness.

It was here he wrote off his past completely, satisfied with his current life and the building of new memories that were filled with promise. Even if he learned he had a family elsewhere, recalled everything there was, he couldn't leave her. Whatever his past personality had been was mostly buried and he was glad for it. He felt he always lived a good life, that he never did anything evil to others and accepted his gut feeling over that gladly. This was a beautiful new start, a beginning that maybe could have been done better, but the end results were highly satisfying.

Chapter Five - Domestication

Ryan finished weeding the entire acre of corn that swayed in the wind, ensuring a sweet flavor since the small underlying weeds wouldn’t take any extra nutrients out of the ground. They would be ripe in one more week. He felt happy. He had Myra, a nice home with plenty of food and water. A whole month and a half had gone by and no repercussions from Avrohom or his guards. His love life more than improved, it blossomed into one of the best things that could ever have happened to him.

He put the hoe and rake away, then toweled off his bare upper body as he preferred to sweat without wearing any of the nice shirts Myra made for him. As he made his way to the house and opened the front door, he was tackled by a fast-moving blur of bundled green clothes, pale skin and silky light blue hair. Upon impact, she hooked her foot behind his ankle and he went crashing down on his back, making a thud in the soft earth.

“You’re home early,” he got out between her kisses, glad now more than ever he decided not to pave the pathway to their door with flat stones.

“I missed you, my lord,” she explained, her happiness making her musical accent almost too thick to understand. Then she propped her arms up on his chest and looked down at him, drinking in his light blue eyes with a huge smile. “I’m home early because I got some serious good news.”

“Tell me,” he mock begged and she giggled.

“I sold our entire crop of corn to Duke Haz'Bolian for five gold!” She kissed him five times on his face and then let him stand up. He inhaled deeply, highly impressed. She explained quickly, the excitement lending her voice a squeal every few words. “He likes to buy in volume, always knew about my farm before but I never had enough for him to be happy about. Since you increased our farm size, he wants what we got! Five whole gold!”

“That’s five hundred silver, isn’t it?” he asked foolishly. He already knew, but he had to hear it from her to make sure it was real.

“Damned right it is,” she announced energetically. “We’re rich, my lord. All because of you. Are you ready for the second set of good news?”

“You held out on me?” he playfully accused her, eyebrows raised with a wicked grin. “You remember what happens when you hold out on me?” He took a step towards her, she skipped back out of reach and raised her finger while cocking her head to the right. Her eyes narrowed while she tried to fight down a dose of nervous flight.

“This thing you call tickling is evil,” she warned him. “Don’t tickle me, I mean it.” She took another step back as he took another towards her. His eyebrows lowered and his grin got larger. He quickly recalled introducing a good tickle a few weeks ago when she got the ingredients to one of his favorite dishes and didn’t make it until he saw where she stored them.

“I’ll tell you inside,” she offered quickly.

“You sure will,” he replied back, just as fast. He sprinted and she screamed playfully and ran inside the house. He eventually did catch her and tickled her playfully to the couch, her body gyrating as she slapped at his hands while yelling. He relented and then cocked his head as she reclined backwards away from him, but he had her legs scissor crossed with his own. His wiggling fingers hovered nearby. “Now tell,” he darkly warned, his tone betrayed by the amusement on his features.

“No dungeon can wrench secrets from me, my lord,” she replied with a rebellious bark, then suppressed a giggle. He moved his hand slightly closer to her ribs and she gave up. “You win!”

He laughed and let her legs go, and she jumped at him, melting against his muscular body and snuggled. Then she let him have it. “I told the townsfolk of you, your unusual size and strength and coloring, and that you’re the finest man I've ever known.”

He almost surged up off the couch but stopped himself. “You what?”

“You heard me,” she accused him with a bright tone.

“What did they say?” He wondered out loud, eyes wide.

“Well,” she started her tale with a wisp of a smile, “I don’t think they would have believed me, but one of the city guards had heard of a giant man who snapped a spear in two. You know, from that fellow guarding Avrohom.”

“Oh my,” he replied solemnly. She continued her proud narration.

“Then the shop owners realized I had ordered more than the usual amount of materials for clothes, and suddenly I had an audience.” She smirked then, then kissed his cheek. “I never had so many people pay attention to me at once. They were captivated by how I found you, how you helped me and that you’re my husband now.”

He carefully sat up and leaned forward, deep in thought. Myra thought she had done something wrong at first, but then she recognized his concerned look. “No, my lord,” she explained carefully. “They didn’t see you as a threat. In fact, they want to meet you. Some of them won’t believe you exist until they see with their own eyes.”

His head turned, his chiseled features were mostly hidden by his long wavy brown hair as it fell towards the ground on both sides. His blue eyes gently regarded her, then he replied as carefully. “Where I’m from, people fear what they don’t understand. Don’t ask me how I know that, it just comes when the situation requires me to feel it. You accepted me darling, and even came to love me. Are you sure they will accept me, or will I need to break more spears?”

“If anyone comes at you with spears, my lord, break them all,” she said, her rose-colored smile getting to him at last and he collected her back into his arms. She fairly melted against him, accepting his affection greedily. Too many years of being alone and unloved made her hungry for all he had to give.

Somebody arrived the next morning.

They were just finishing breakfast and starting the daily house chores when the sounds of a horse clopping up to the cottage reached them. Her head jerked around, then she ran and took a peek outside. She snapped the door shut fully after a good look and put her back against it. Her musical accent was tinged with anxiety. “Lord Vendegal of the Ocaza Garrison just rode up, alone. I better prepare him for you so he doesn't panic.”

“He won't hit you?” Za'Ryan asked quickly, pulling on his boots as fast as he could. He wore his dark tan work pants and a gray tank top. That alone could make an intimidating presence just by standing there with a pair of powerful crossed arms. She shook her head and tied back her hair with one of her colorful elastic hoops.

“He's not a bad man,” Myra replied, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did to her but he wasn't about to let another incident happen if anyone took a hostile stance.

“Myra!” a heavy tenor called out, the accent almost as musical as hers. “Are you here?”

“Wait for my signal,” she pleaded to Za'Ryan, and he nodded slowly, trusting her. He would always trust her, it was the other bastard he was worried about. Then she smiled at him reassuringly, opened the door and stepped out. She snapped it closed quickly. He went and cracked it open just a hair's width. It was just enough to let him see without being seen.

The slender dark blue haired man was armored with short metal plates with a sword on his hip. It wasn't a dress sword, but a much used leather wrapped hilt that had plenty of life left in it. His helmet was fancy, a broad design that looked like etched leaves in the bright metal, adding importance to his rank. He had a serious look on his thin, almost feminine face, and his eyes were jade green. He had just got off his horse and nodded to Myra as she walked up to him and curtsied politely. She talked first however, to correct him.

“Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue,” she informed him, tone neutral. Her musical accent sent a surge of pride and affection up Ryan's spine, and Vendegal's expression went from serious to utter surprise.

“Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue,” Vendegal repeated graciously, then bowed to her, a definite upgrade from a mere nod. Ryan wasn't letting his guard down however, and was ready to spring out of that door at a moment's notice. “When did you get married?”

“Recently,” she told the garrison commander, pride riding every word. “Lord Za'Ryan is a kind man, but not tolerant of abuse towards me.”

The fancy helmet bobbed and mailed gauntlets spread in supplication, indicating that was the reason for his visit. “I'm here about that issue. A certain hysterical Avrohom claims he was attacked by a huge demon with the strength of ten men. I'm certain you wouldn't marry a creature from hell,” he added, an amused look washing over his face.

“Of course I wouldn't,” Myra exclaimed lightly, sharing the humor for a moment. Then she got serious. “My husband is a
very
large man, a powerful warrior from a distant land. He's even a lot taller than me,” and she gestured towards the sky. Now Vendegal's dark blue eyebrows crept up again in surprise, he had to look up slightly to meet her gaze at it was. Now there was somebody taller?

“Is Lord Za'Ryan here?” he inquired, almost in disbelief.

“Yes,” she said, then lifted her chin slightly, which made Vendegal blink. She snubbed his tone, an act of total assurance in being distinctively right over a man's belief. “I had to prepare you so no more untrue stories of my husband circulates, he is no demon.” she explained carefully, not lowering her chin. “If I had not, I promise you might have misunderstood too.” Then she raised her volume. “My Lord, you're expected!”

Za'Ryan opened the door and stepped out, pausing for only a fraction of a second for the new arrival to get a good look. Then he walked up to stand next to Myra, his long strides closing the distance in only four steps where Vendegal might have had to use twice as many.

The garrison commander's mouth dropped open, face went slack and eyes bugged out as he almost had to tilt his head back to look up into a pair of ice blue eyes. The first words out of his flabbergasted mouth were, “May the gods be merciful!”

“I'm sure they will,” Ryan said, and his calm baritone made Vendegal take an involuntary step backwards. The volume had been normal and the tone respectful, but it was so low as to seem impossible to the garrison commander's pointed ears. Za'Ryan continued with his introduction, “I'm pleased to meet a man who won't put a mean hand on my wife after the taxes are collected, especially while her husband is waking up from a sound sleep.” Even though they weren't married when the incident happened, he felt that the significance would add weight in making the case for his actions while Vendegal was reeling from the initial encounter. Besides, only they knew the little white fib for what it was, and their time together could have been intimate a lot longer if he had not messed up so much. So it counted to him as accurate for the time being. The garrison commander's reaction was expected.

“Avrohom what?” Vendegal replied sharply while blinking a few times, probably checking his vision as he regarded Za'Ryan's girth.

“That's how it happened,” Ryan replied, solemn and to the point. “Though I'm certain the lying bastard didn't tell his side that way.” There was no need for hostility in his voice, the words alone were spoken calmly and sounded far more truthful than an outright hostile accusation. It was enough to set Vendegal to nodding.

“You're right, Lord Za'Ryan. He didn't tell it that way.” He sighed, gestured towards the general direction of Ocaza. “His authority to collect taxes allows him a lot of leeway, but you put the fear of death into him for sure. He even said you threw him twenty feet into the wagon, of all things.”

Ryan sighed back, then took the time to tell the tale and left nothing out including the final toss into the wagon. He ended his narration with a warning however. “I have no reason to give an untruth, Lord Vendegal. That man is to understand that he will get his taxes on time and the amount we settle on, but if he's not polite to Myra and makes to put hand to her again, it will be the worse for him. Can you make that crystal clear to his face?”

“I suppose I can tell him,” Vendegal pondered, and this time Ryan's features grew slightly grim and determined.

“I can go to Ocaza and make it clear to him myself, if need be,” the large man offered, knowing what the reaction might be and was correct.

Both mailed palms went out to him at chest level as if to stop him from moving forward. “Goodness no,” Vendegal exclaimed, growing afraid. “Don't go to Ocaza. At least not yet, please. You would panic all five thousand citizens at first sight. You're a mere rumor to only a few, most haven't the faintest idea you exist.”

“Is there something you can do about that?” Myra asked. Her features were hopeful and proud at the same time. She added her infectious smile and Vendegal agreed quickly.

“Yes Lady Myra, I can do something about that, but I will need some time.” The garrison commander seemed to hesitate a moment before continuing. “Give me a week to spread the word and put up a poster in the main forum with details. I need to describe him very carefully and set a date for the arrival. That way we can keep any upset or fearful reactions to a minimum.”

“Agreed,” Ryan replied, a grin spreading on his features. Soon this mysterious town would know of him and he would know of them, and it would make life for them both so much easier. He nodded his head to Vendegal much like the commander did to Myra when he first arrived. The nod was returned as he remounted the horse, picked the reins up from where he tied them to the saddle.

“I'll send a messenger with the date and time,” he said to them both, then saluted with his right hand over his heart. After taking a long last look at Ryan, he wheeled his horse and kicked it into a gallop towards Ocaza.