“Yes…much…oh, God…” Thalia tried to keep her voice down, knowing that, even though the nadaam feast was a noisy affair, someone in a nearby ger might hear her moans and investigate the sound. But it was almost impossible to stay silent as she rode him. Again and again. She wrapped her legs around his waist, needing to be as close to him as possible. Clenching him, feeling his girth, an extraordinary, blinding pleasure began to build.
“That’s it, Thalia,” he gritted, bucking. “Come for me.”
He thrust again, and it began to roll over her, starting deep inside her and spreading out in growing surges, bigger and bigger, until it hit her fully, a crashing torrent of rapture that she threw herself into with a recklessness she never knew she possessed. Her jaw ached from holding in her scream. Just moments after she was lost to the flood, he stiffened beneath her with an agony of bliss.
He held her close as she collapsed against him. And though a heavy quilt of drowsiness threatened to drag her into sleep, Thalia kept her eyes open. She wanted to see the stars.
Nadaam
Nearly four dozen men on horseback were lined up at the edge of the encampment. A large crowd stood close by, already cheering. The horses sensed the excitement, and were eager to run, Gabriel’s mount included. His stallion tugged at the reins, wanting to let loose the power of his legs. Familiar faces from the night before greeted Gabriel as he took his place between some riders. He called out his own greetings in painfully awkward Mongolian, but no one seemed to mind his butchering of the language. Everyone was too caught up in the thrill of the moment. Gabriel even felt himself smile. He loved action, loved doing, and after waiting and agonizing over the Heirs’ next move, finally taking charge of the situation was bloody marvelous.
Bloody marvelous didn’t come close to describing the night before. Thalia. Finally. After an eternity of days, a misery of wanting but not having. Good Christ, even waiting for the race to begin, when he should be thinking about how best to take the course, his body demanded more, his pulse sped with desire. He wanted nothing more than to gallop up to Thalia, throw her over the saddle, and ride away with her to some secluded spot where he could take her sweet body again and again, making her come relentlessly, until she was hoarse from screaming, until they were both tapped dry. Last night hadn’t even approached dulling his hunger for her.
When he’d cleaned himself later, he’d been surprised not to find any blood. But there had been no tearing, either. She had been a virgin. He knew that completely. But she was also a horsewoman and no English sidesaddle for Thalia, and he was grateful that had tempered her pain. He couldn’t stand causing her any pain.
Gabriel’s attention snapped back to the moment when Bold came forward. He addressed the riders, saying something in Mongolian that Gabriel could only assume meant, “Ride well, and watch your arse.”
He saw Thalia and Batu join the crowd, and his heart knocked into his ribs to see her and the encouraging smile she gave him, but he made himself focus on scanning the territory ahead, learning the landscape so he could be prepared. But nothing prepared him for what he saw next.
Muscling between two riders, mounted on his own wild-spirited horse, was Tsend, the Heirs’ henchman. Jesus, how close were the Heirs, to send their thug? They’d kept themselves hidden, somehow, and belated recognition of danger turned to fire up Gabriel’s back. So near. The Heirs had been so near, and Gabriel unknowing the whole time. Christ and devils.
The large Mongol mockingly saluted Gabriel with his riding crop, then flicked his greedy eyes to where Thalia stood. Gabriel followed his gaze, and saw that a surprised and angry Thalia recognized him, too. She took a step toward them, as if she could somehow fight the vicious Mongol herself. But Tsend just smiled coldly. Black rage poured through Gabriel. Not only was Tsend leering at Thalia, but the bastard was going to vie for the ruby. Probably easier than trying to steal it outright from several hundred tribesmen. He’d win the Source and give it to the Heirs.
“Like hell,” Gabriel muttered. He started to wheel his horse toward Tsend, maybe try to knock him down, but there was a shout from Bold, and suddenly the race had begun.
Every day in the army hadn’t been a battle. In fact, there could be months on end when almost nothing happened, and the soldiers had had to find a way to amuse themselves or else go barmy from boredom. Horse races had been just one of the entertainments they’d devised. Gabriel had competed in, and won, his fair share.
But none of those races had the urgency, the necessity, of this one. Only the first eight men to finish this race would advance to the next stage in the tournament, and Gabriel had to be one of them.
Sounds of hooves beating hard into the earth rumbled on every side as riders galloped hard across the fields. Gabriel bent low over his horse’s neck, while dust rose up in huge, choking clouds. The first part of the course was nearly flat, half a mile of steppe without interruption. Gabriel pressed his heels into the stallion’s sides, kept the quirt resting lightly on its flank as a reminder for speed. He didn’t want to tire his horse too soon, but had to establish an early enough lead to separate out from the throng of riders.
He chanced a quick glance around and saw that already half of the competitors had fallen behind. That still left nearly two dozen men, all of them whipping hard at their horses. Tsend was among them.
They forded a stream. For half a moment, Gabriel wondered if the Heirs might summon more water demons to sweep the riders from their saddles, but, in an instant, everyone had crossed the stream. Flat steppe swelled up to rolling hills dotted with birch trees. Gabriel wove his horse through the trees, nimbly dodging them. By the sounds of horses neighing and men shouting, followed by a few crashes, other riders hadn’t been so careful.
He ducked under a low-lying branch and felt a few twigs brush his hat, which almost came loose. From the corner of his eye, he saw a few other riders keeping pace deftly, including Tsend. Somehow, the Heirs’ Mongol had found a horse large enough to support his bulk. Folded awkwardly over his own knees, Gabriel wished he’d been able to do the same.
Abruptly, the hills and trees gave way to a steep and rocky slope. Some of the horses were unprepared, and they and their riders stumbled as rocks blocked their descent. One pair even toppled over completely, rider and horse somersaulting together. Gabriel almost swung his own mount around to help, but saw the fallen horse immediately get up and trot away while the dazed rider tottered to his feet.
Gabriel leaned back in the saddle as his horse careened down the hill. Without a firm hand on the reins, the horse would have galloped madly, directionless, heedless, but Gabriel held tight, guiding the beast around rocky outcroppings when possible, or urging it to leap over smaller obstacles in his path. The bright blue sky seemed to reach down to meet him as wind pushed against his body. A strange, wild joy thundered in his chest in those brief, airborne moments. His mind and body both pulsed with life. He laughed aloud.
He took that thrill and directed it toward staying on his horse and toward the head of the pack of riders. The stone-covered slope ended, stretching back into grassy steppe, which meant it was time to bring the horse about and complete the course. Quickly, Gabriel counted eleven other riders, with Tsend part of that number. At least three riders couldn’t cross the finish line ahead of Gabriel, or the battle would be lost. This wasn’t just for the ruby, not merely for the Blades of the Rose, but for Thalia. The thought spurred him on.
Like a booming flock of birds, the competitors wheeled around en masse. The rest of the course was flat steppe, so it was an all-out sprint to the clusters of gers off in the distance. Gabriel lifted up, crouching in the stirrups, and his horse caught his urgency. The sight of the other horses around it spurred it onward, ears folded back, neck stretched out, sandy hide flecked with foam. Tsend managed to pull up alongside Gabriel. The Mongol’s horse’s flanks were striped with red welts from his indiscriminate use of the whip.
Then Tsend moved closer, snarling. Gabriel anticipated the blow, and caught the strike of the whip on his forearm as he shielded his face. Tsend struck again and again, the force of the blows almost knocking Gabriel from the saddle. He grimaced in pain as the leather bit through the fabric of his jacket, catching flesh. He cursed, as the attacks were causing his horse to fall back, losing ground. More riders passed, either unable or unwilling to help, and Gabriel had to act.
The next time Tsend slashed with the whip, Gabriel managed to wrap his hand around it. A struggle ensued as the Mongol mercenary and British soldier fought for dominance, their bodies suspended over the racing grasses beneath them, each tugging furiously on the whip. Gabriel felt as though his arm, burning with exertion, was about to be torn off. With a growl, he pulled hard. Tsend shouted. The whip went flying, cutting the air, and was lost somewhere on the steppe behind them.
Gabriel spared neither the lost whip nor the swearing Mongol any further thought. He was a few hundred yards from the finish line, could already hear the crowds shouting encouragement, but there were ten riders ahead of him. The race could be lost or won in the next moments. He nudged his heels into his horse, and the animal, wanting to taste victory, hurtled forward.
Shapes of the other riders slid past Gabriel as he bridged the gap between himself and his competition. He didn’t look to his left or right, didn’t look behind. His sole focus was the blue silk banner that marked the finish. As he pushed onward, sweat formed and cooled on his back. Closer. Closer. He felt himself, his horse, begin to flag. Now he could give the horse’s flank a swat with the quirt, and did so. The animal broke out of its complacency, drawing upon reserves of energy Gabriel had carefully tended throughout the race. The crowd’s indistinct roaring became individual voices as he neared. And in the midst of that sound was Thalia, yelling in English, “That’s it, Gabriel!”
Her voice was all he needed. With a final push, he dug in. A flash of blue silk moved and was behind him. The crowd shouted. It was over. He’d crossed the finish line, but not knowing in what position he’d placed. Had other riders passed him at the last minute, edging him out?
Pulling up on the reins, Gabriel eased his horse into a canter, then a trot, and finally a walk. He brought the horse around, and in the haze of dust kicked up from so many other riders, it was impossible to know. He squinted through the swirling yellow dust.
Then, appearing like a summoned spirit, Thalia ran toward him. She dodged the horses milling in excited confusion, never breaking stride, until she was beside him, beaming up at him with a beauty and radiance that stung his eyes. He’d made her happy.
“You’ve done it,” she cried. “Tied for second. Wonderful, wonderful Gabriel.”
He bent down, wrapped an arm around her waist, and hauled her up so that her hip touched his. And then he kissed her. Hard.
She seemed startled at first, hands suspended in the air like birds, but then she gripped him, kissing him back with the same ferocity. The race had his heart already thundering in his chest like heavy artillery. And now, he was sure every cannon in the British army fired simultaneously underneath his ribs. The excitement of the race was nothing to holding Thalia, kissing her.
When her hands gripped his upper arms, pressing into the fresh cuts from Tsend’s riding crop, he couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped between his teeth. Hearing this sound, Thalia broke the kiss and leaned back. When she saw the injuries he’d sustained, she scowled and wriggled free until her feet touched the ground. He hated letting go of her, but she was determined, and he was more than a little sapped from the race and from defending himself against the Heirs’ Mongol. He swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted.
“I’ll rip his guts out, starting at his toes,” she growled, gently examining Gabriel’s wounds.
He couldn’t help but smile at the fierce panther that was Thalia. “Against the Blades’ rules, isn’t it?”
“Not if it’s justified.” She shook her head at his bleeding skin. “I can bind these, put some herbs on them to help the healing. Do you think you’ll be up for wrestling later?”
Gabriel decided he wouldn’t tell her about the time he’d almost had his arm shot off, though he had the scars on his shoulder to prove it. Bragging never did anybody any good, except make him or her look like a bleating fool. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
Just then, Tsend rode slowly past them, chuckling. Gabriel started after the Mongol, but a restraining hand from Thalia stopped him. “He finished just after you. So save that fight for later. If he places in the top four of the archery competition, you’ll get your chance. Besides,” she added when Gabriel let out a stream of rather unpleasant oaths, “we don’t know what the Heirs are planning. If we simply take out their heavy muscle, they’ll surely have someone or something else ready. At least Tsend is a known commodity, and one that can be bested.”
It wasn’t as satisfying as beating the Mongol’s skeleton into a paste, but it would have to do for now. Other things also left Gabriel unsatisfied, such as the kiss he and Thalia had just shared, the kiss that flooded him with thick heat.
She seemed to recall it at the same moment he did, because her already pink cheeks turned nearly ruddy as she blushed. Kissing in public wasn’t something she was familiar with. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you bandaged. The archery is about to start, and I don’t want to be distracted by thinking about you.” Thalia turned and began to walk toward the chieftain’s ger.
After handing the reins of his horse to a waiting boy, Gabriel followed, watching the sway of Thalia’s hips. He knew it would take more than a few bandages to keep him from thinking about her.
Thalia rubbed her palms against her thighs, trying to dry them. She’d shot a bow many times in her life—it had been one of the first things Batu had taught her, soon after she’d arrived in Mongolia, and not long after that, she’d surpassed him in ability—so she didn’t doubt that she could shoot well. But Thalia had only hunted, as well as shot at targets for amusement. Now, if she failed in this task, she and Gabriel would be out of the running for the ruby. If they didn’t win the Source they might have to steal it, or make a stand out on the exposed steppes against the relentless Heirs; the mission might be a failure with all its attendant disaster, and her first opportunity to join the Blades would be her last.
To keep her mind from dragging her under, Thalia checked and rechecked her bow. It wasn’t the one she usually shot with, but it would suffice. She’d borrowed it from Bold’s youngest brother, who smiled at the thought of a woman competing against the area’s most skilled men. Thalia shook her head to clear more doubts. It was a typical Mongolian recurve bow, once the weapon of the unstoppable Mongol horde. She, like those warriors and any self-respecting herdsman, could shoot both on the ground and from horseback. But all she needed today was distance and accuracy on her own two feet.