Seduced by the Beast (24 page)

            Tentatively,
afraid of what she’d find, Ashanti reached up to lay her fingers against a
pulse in his neck.  It beat surprisingly strong and fast.  She sighed in
relief, then frowned. 

            A trick? 
Perhaps.  Perhaps not.

            His skin scorched
her, the flesh eat up by unnatural heat and flushed splotchy red in places
Ashanti noticed now that she was so close.  He was ill—likely dying.  Studying
him, she could see he hadn’t healed completely.  Something must have caused him
more hurt than she realized, but she couldn’t fathom what it could be since
shifters had such miraculous healing abilities and strength.  Had a hidden
injury been the reason Lord Conrad had captured him so easily?

            Maybe he’d been
starved since his capture and needed sustenance to power his healing?

            Unbidden,
unwelcome, pity surged through her.  Without conscious volition, she stroked
his neck and head, feeling an instinctive need to comfort.  He did not respond,
assuring Ashanti that he was unconscious rather than merely sleeping or
feigning sleep.  Emboldened, as concerned with his lack of response as she was
relieved, she trailed her fingers from his hair along his neck and
shoulder...still no response...from him.

            His skin was
smooth, silky beneath the sensitive skin of her fingertips and palm, the
muscles beneath that smooth sheath rock hard even in his state of
unconsciousness.  Her fingertips tingled with tiny shocks of energy that she
found strangely unnerving and invigorating at the same time.  The urge to
comfort was usurped by another urge, one she neither completely understood, nor
questioned.

            A brazen urge to
explore what had always been called a nightmare to her people compelled her to
bury her fingers in the pale blond, surprisingly soft hair that flowed from his
scalp along his powerful neck and fell across his chest.  She should have been
repulsed to touch him so intimately, but it had the opposite effect, spurred
her to touch him more.  Tentatively at first, she glided her fingers down his
hair sprinkled chest, wincing as she encountered the welts from his beatings.

            Anger surged through
her. That bastard Conrad deserved retribution for his actions.  Unfortunately
she was not the one to mete out justice.

            In that moment,
it almost seemed as if she stepped outside herself. 

            The side she knew
felt remorse that he’d been made to suffer in her name, compassion for his
pain.

            The side she
barely recognized felt far more than anger—a rising heat, a consuming
hunger—almost a sense of triumph that this powerful creature was helpless to
her will.  Brazenly, she leaned closer, bending her head so that she could run
her lips along the angry welts, brush them with her cheek, lathe them with her
tongue.

            Heat curled
between her thighs.  She squeezed them tightly together and nearly gasped at
the sharp stab of forbidden pleasure.

            She was barely aware
of the restless movements of her hands, stroking the hard ridge of muscles
along his sides, down the rippling muscles of his abdomen, up along his sides
again to the arms chained above his head.  The muscles along his inner arms
stood out in long, hard bands that she caressed.  She touched the cold steel
that bound his wrists, almost as if to reassure herself he was still within her
power, then allowed her hands to drift downward again, fascinated by the
contrast of cold metal and heated, silky skin, roughened by a sprinkling of
hair.   As her restless movements brought her hands once more to the hard chest
beneath her cheek, she discovered a hard male nipple and paused to tease it
with her fingers, then her tongue as her fingers sought new discoveries.

            The rippling
muscles along his lower chest and abdomen quivered slightly as her palms skated
over them, but she barely registered it, caught up in her exploration and the
heady sensations it evoked.  When her questing hands at last encountered his
loincloth, she hesitated.  Dare she explore further?

            She should not.

            She did.

            Almost timidly
now, feeling her two selves converge as doubts surfaced, warring with forbidden
desires, she skated her hand lightly along the band, oh so tempted to delve
inside, but caution won out and she merely ran her palm over the supple cloth
where she discovered to her surprise a very large, very hard ridge of flesh. 
Puzzled, a little confused, she cupped her hand around it, slipping it along
the hard length.

            More than a little
dazed, it took several heartbeats for her heated brain to catch up to her
mental processes.  She looked down at her hand, cupping his sex through the
thin cloth.  Slowly, realization sank in and, still hopeful that she was wrong,
she raised her head, lifted her gaze to his face.

            He was looking
right at her.  And he bore not the look of a man at death’s door.

            Ashanti couldn’t
breathe for several moments, felt her jaw go slack with surprise. Complete
awareness awakened very slowly...the realization that her cheek still rested on
his hard chest—that she still cupped the hard ridge of his sex in her hand....

            She released him
as if she’d just discovered a hot poker in her hand, leapt back, feeling the
blood rush from her head and then back in a sickening wave that brought a wave
of cold and blackness, then a flood of bright red heat.

            What foulness had
bespelled her, she wondered frantically.  Shame filled her, that she’d taken
advantage of an ill man, unconscious, barely clinging to life.

            When had he awakened?

            His slanted,
tawny eyes, their pupils mere slivers, studied her with a mixture of
bewilderment and...and hunger.  A shiver skated over her skin, leaving
goose-bumps in its wake.  She wanted to run from those alien eyes, to turn
away, but mesmerized, she was held rooted to the spot, her legs refusing to
obey thoughts of escape.

            Without fathoming
why, she
needed
to touch him again, like an unheard beckoning that had
to be answered.  Unconsciously, she stepped close and reached up to comb his
hair from his face, her wrist brushing his lips accidentally.

            She felt a jolt
when his tongue snaked out and touched the fragile pulse that beat there, that
tasted the salt of her skin.  He watched her, watched her reaction to him and
seemed pleased that a simple touch affected her thusly.  But he couldn’t know
that she’d never been touched by anyone but Lord Conrad...and that she hated
him.

            At his touch…her
own reaction, Ashanti wavered, tempted to flee, compelled to stay.  That other
side of herself that she didn’t know or understand seized control of her so
that instead of yielding to her inner warnings and fleeing, she moved
infinitesimally closer, curling her hand around the back of his neck, drawing
him down as she raised up to meet him.

            She closed her
eyes as his lips touched hers and a fire burst inside her, searing heat
scorching soft skin where she connected with him.  Her knees weakened and she
drew her other arm around him to support herself, not daring, nor willing, to
pull away.

            He kissed her
ravenously as though starved, his mouth moving in hungry nibbles over her lips,
debilitating what little strength she still possessed.  She’d never imagined a
kiss could be so powerful.

            Something beat
wildly in her ears and she realized it was her pulse, deafening with its
quickening.  She groaned against his mouth, molding herself to his hard planes,
wanting to be closer still, unwilling to stop even to breathe.

            The chains
rattled as he strained to touch her, to be inside her.  Sensing his need, she
parted her lips and he thrust his rough tongue into her mouth, delving deep,
and then drawing her into him.  She gasped in the back of her throat, unable to
believe the simple pleasure two mouths could conjure together, reveling in the
wild taste of him, an untamed force that consumed her soul and gave it to him.

            Vague and
disjointed as the thought was, it connected with an earlier warning, that she
had somehow been bespelled and fear knifed through her.

            Ashanti broke
away, stumbling back from him several paces, panting for breath as she stared
at him in shocked dismay.  A warmth suffused her limbs, weakened her.  Her skin
tingled all over.  Her thoughts lay in the ruins of confusion, as if she’d
drunk too much wine.

            Touching a hand
to prickling lips, she looked at him accusingly.

            His fierce gaze
swept her up and down, measuring, lingering on her intimate parts as if they
caressed her through the gape of her black cloak.  She regretted her wardrobe
then, felt shame and guilt flood her as she saw herself through his eyes: the
scarlet linen cut in a deep vee to her navel, slit up the sides and held in
place by a gold cord wrapped around her to stabilize the flimsy fabric.  By
Lord Cornad’s will she was clothed like a courtesan, not an untouched
maiden…and yet, her actions had done nothing to lead anyone to believe her an
innocent.

            It angered her
that she had left herself in no position to dispute the knowing look in his
eyes.

            He studied her a
moment longer, until she thought she’d crack from the suspense.  Gleaming eyes
met hers once more, alien, angry.  “Why did you come here?  Were you curious
about my people’s legendary skills as lovers?”  His voice rolled over her, as
seductive as a purr.

            She swallowed
hard, passion leaving dust in the wake of mortification.  “No, I did not.” 
Speaking was an effort.  Her lips felt swollen, heavy.  She could still taste
him on her tongue and wondered if he could her.  She squared her shoulders,
determined that he would not see her frailty.

            “Your actions
belie you.”  He looked pointedly down at himself, drawing her attention to the
erection that steepled his loincloth.  Warmth flooded her cheeks at her
audacity.  She turned her back to him, ashamed and not wanting him to see her
embarrassment, all thought of defiance fleeing her.  She was a woman full
grown, not a child, and yet this man, this beast, brought out a side in her
she’d never seen before.

            “I came to free
you, though I know not now if I should risk it...  What do your people call
you?”

            “I am known as
Blasien, and it matters not to me, my lady, if you free me.  I do not need your
help.”

            She shuddered,
thinking of what he would endure in her name.  Lord Conrad would never let him
live even had he not been a shifter.  He’d dared to touch her when she’d
invited him.  She couldn’t look on the doomed man.  “You fool.  You’ll be
killed if I don’t.  I want some assurance you’ll not touch me if I release
you.”

            Ashanti trembled,
hating herself, feeling the heat of his golden eyes, though she couldn’t bear
to see him.

            “I offer you no
such promises.  ‘Twas because of you that I was taken.”

            A wave of shock
and guilt went through her.  She hadn’t expected that he would know.  No doubt
Lord Conrad had bragged of it to him, she thought with a mixture of shame and
anger.  “I know,” she whispered.  She hid her face with her hands.  Had she
been in his position, she could well imagine her feelings would mirror his
own.  Revenge would be sweet in her heart.

            “I do thank you,
however, for allowing me to free myself,
my lady
.”

            His words chilled
her, the hackles along the back of her neck raising in warning too late.  She
turned and saw him straining, the muscles of his arms and legs bunching with
power.  A shiver arced up her spine as the sounds of chains snapping reached
unbelieving ears.  Without hesitation, as metal links groaned and flew through
the air, she whirled and ran, but a lightning fast hand grasped her cloak and
pulled her back before she could escape.

            Ashanti tried to
scream but he knew what she would do before she did.  He clasped a hand over
the lower half of her face, blocking her cries for help, and shoved her against
the wall, trapping her.  A tremor ran through her at the contrast of warm skin
to chill block.  She struck him with her fists, flailing her arms to find purchase. 
Blasien released her mouth to pin her arms above her head, a massive hand
encircling both her wrists.

            His face hovered
mere inches from hers.  She sucked in a breath to scream.  It died in her
throat at the look in his eyes.

            The dungeon was
far below the castle—no one would hear her.  It was down here for that very
reason.  There were no guards keeping watch over the empty dungeon, for Lord
Conrad had dismissed all but the most necessary men…..and the guard at the main
gate was dead drunk even if the thought of him challenging such a man as this
were not laughable.  No one would come.  He could do with her what he would
with none the wiser.

            She wanted to
believe he would not harm her, but his actions told her he would do something
that could damage her mind and soul rather than physically wound.