The Fire Within Page 3

  She averted her face, her fingers clutching at the taamid. “Wisdom will not stop my brother.”

  Zahak gently turned her face back to him. Her eyes darkened with fear, and something else. She dropped her gaze to his mouth, and every muscle in his body tightened with agony.

  Sands, how he wanted her. Staring at her small body, the dark circles of exhaustion on her face, the dried sweat and caked dirt on her delicate face, he tried to imagine loosing the Fire he constantly battled. He imagined letting his beast rise beneath his skin until he bit her savagely to put his mark upon her, crushing her beneath him, ravaging her, while Fire seared them both.

  Heart pounding in his chest, he rose unsteadily and turned away from such temptation. Amin would be safer for her, less violent. His scimitar wasn’t stained with blood, his heart even blacker, while Fire ate away at him day by day, not like his enforcer and dra’gwar brother. Reflexively, Zahak touched his cropped hair, a constant reminder of his grief and dishonor. “I’m saif, enforcer. I do whatever is necessary to quell the tribe. Trust me, Eleni. You want my brother.”

  “Dreams,” she whispered hoarsely. “Darius will kill me in a dream, and he won’t even have to touch me.”

  “If Amin can’t protect you, I shall.”

  “How? How can you stop a dream?”

  He paused at the tent pole. Turning his head, he allowed all the death and violence he’d wrought to twist his face and darken his eyes to match his soul. “You are a treasure greater than water, and I shall protect you or die.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Zahak slowed his mount to fall back beside Eleni. How she remained in the saddle, he didn’t know. His own head ached with the heat, his thirst a torment. The Keldari had been born to a land without fresh water and knew the endless suffering of thirst: no rain, no rivers, no lakes. Poisoned sands leached into the few precious Wells until the water was deadly to drink.

  Yet drink they must. Everyone died sooner or later.

  “Ride with me, azharana.”

  Wordlessly, she shook her head. She hunched over the horse’s neck, forehead against the sweaty animal, her hands fisted in the mane so tightly her fingers were white.

  Slipping his fingers beneath her chin, he raised her upright so he could better assess her condition. Her eyes were glassy with fever, her lips cracked and blackened.

  “No one expects you to ride alone, azharana, least of all me.” He regretted the tenderness filling his heart. Why could he not sling her over his lap and ignore her pride, the flash of emotion in her eyes, the elegance in her slim body? “For your blood alone we will protect you.”

  “Must ride.Less than child.”

  Surprise flickered through him. She truly knew more about his culture than he’d expected. Certainly no other munakura would have taken the trouble to learn that all Keldari rode their mounts. To fall off was to die. Only a very young child might be carried. Everyone else who couldn’t ride when a tribe moved was simply left behind.

  It was natural selection at its cruelest necessity.

  “It’s several hours, yet, before we reach a Well. You can’t make it so far.”

  Her chin quivered, her eyes huge with pain and desperation. “Must.”

  “Why does it matter to you?”

  Pride flashed in her eyes. “I would be worthy of the azi.”

  “Iyeh,” he whispered, his mouth quirking. His heart warmed with admiration for this fiercely proud woman. “You will ride alone.”

  His admiration grew by the hour. Silent and uncomplaining, she endured despite the heat and pain from the punishing ride.

  “She dies,” Malum said as he rode alongside. “You let her die for naught.”

  “Her pride—”

  “Forget pride. She is a White, the only White we are likely to find in time for the ascension. See to her, or I shall.”

  “Touch her and die.” Zahak didn’t need to unsheathe a weapon; the flat, emotionless tone of his voice checked his friend.

  Malum inclined his head and held his hand up, palm out, fingers spread. “As you will, saif, but your brother will surely kill you if you fail in this duty.”

  “We both know that is untrue.” Laughing grimly, Zahak untied the pack at his knee and sorted through the meager items. He didn’t like it, but Malum was right. If he did nothing, she’d die before they reached the Well. “Amin wouldn’t kill a lawbreaker, yet alone me.”

  “And this is why I say you should fight for azi, not Amin.” Malum didn’t meet his gaze and kept his hands well away from his weapons. They’d had this argument too many times to count. “Keep her for yourself, Zahak, and none will stand against you.”

  Grimly, he crushed the spark of hope and joy that flared in his heart. “I owe Amin everything. He’s tal. He’ll be azi, if I must die to make it so.”

  Though it broke his heart, he would deliver Eleni and ride away without another glimpse of her bright eyes.

  Zahak owned little, didn’t care for possessions, and had no sepah of his own to supply. Yet one thing any Keldari warrior—dra’gwar or no—carried at all times in the desert: Dragon Piss. When water was so scarce, one sometimes found himself far from a Well, without hope, and Dragon Piss was the brutal answer. A powerful, foul stimulant, it was only taken in emergencies, when death would result otherwise, for it was as likely to kill as exposure, thirst or a feral dragon. The thought of forcing it down her throat made the beast within him snarl and gnash its teeth with rage.

  “You have no choice.” Malum slapped him on the shoulder in sympathy. “We have no water left, and the nearest Well is still an hour or more away and not ours. We’ll have to fight for it. She may still die.”

  “Not her.” Zahak guided his horse closer and fisted his left hand at the back of her head, gathering material and hair to pull her face up. She barely made a sound, and her eyes were dangerously hollowed and dry. “Forgive me, azharana.”

  When she opened her mouth to ask why, he glimpsed her swollen tongue as he forced the vial deep into her mouth. The liquid hit her flesh and her eyes flew open wider. Shuddering, she fought and mewled weakly, a sound that nigh tore his heart to shreds. He knew the brutal power flaring to life in her body. A thousand times worse than Fire Tea, the stimulant would make even him writhe on the ground and curse the sands.

  “What was that?” Her voice was still hoarse, but her eyes were alert and she pushed his hand away.

  “Dragon Piss.”

  She closed her eyes and convulsed. “Not really… You wouldn’t…”

  Chuckling, Zahak shook his head. “It’s made from various plants and several dragon ingredients, but not actually piss. We call it that because it’s so vile.” Sobering, he cupped her cheek in his palm and let his pride for her warm his eyes. “Now, azharana, we must ride harder than ever. The stimulant has given you energy your body needs, but it will push you to your death if we don’t hurry to water. Can you ride hard and fast?”

  Was it his imagination, or did she rub her cheek gently against his palm? “I can do it.”

  He whispered to the horses and both mounts leaped ahead at a ground-eating canter.

  Her face smoothed with the gentler gait. “How long can they sustain this speed?”

  “An hour, perhaps. Long enough to reach the next Well.”

  “They might be ugly horses, but I’ve never seen such endurance.”

  Concentrating on the upcoming battle, Zahak didn’t respond. The Asps were supposedly one of the friendlier tribes, meaning they wouldn’t try to kill his warriors immediately. The other tribe would not willingly give up water, especially when they saw the treasure such water would save.

  Amin with a White would be unbeatable, and of course, all tribes believed their own tal should lead them all as azi.

  * * *

  “Stay here.”

  Eleni blinked, trying to focus on Zahak. He said something quickly to one of his men in their language, and then signaled his horse to trot down the dune. In the darkness,
she couldn’t see where he rode, but when battle engaged, she could clearly hear the shouts and the clang of metal.

  Shivering, she clutched his heavy cape tighter about her shoulders. How could it be so cold after the blazing heat of the desert noon? Her fingers and toes were already numb and ice inched up her arms and legs. She was so stiff she could barely move.

  She must also be hallucinating, because she thought she saw flames floating, no, flying down in the darkness. Horrendous screams echoed in the night, and a roar shook the ground.

  Squealing, her horse shied. She tried to hold on, but her strength was gone. Her body was sluggish, so terribly cold. Slipping, she hung at the horse’s side, further spooking it, but she couldn’t let go of the mane. She didn’t even feel her fingers. She barely felt the kicking hooves.

  The mare twisted, trying to shake her off. Vicious teeth flashed in the night, the horse’s eye liquid and flaring red, reflecting the flames. She had to find a way to calm the ugly beast. She tried to remember the words Zahak had used. She wasn’t its master, not like him, but maybe—

  “Ishtay,” she whispered, her voice shaking. The horse snorted, shaking its head, but it didn’t bite her. “Ishtay, horse. What’s your name?”

  Lips peeled back from jagged teeth, but the horse no longer tried to stomp her into the sands. An improvement. She still dangled helpless against its shoulder, her arm aching and twisted awkwardly.

  The beast snorted again.

  Struggling to regain her feet, she launched into meaningless chatter. “Are you even a horse? Look at your head, and that nose. You remind me of several nobles. With that winning personality, you’re quite the harridan.”

  The mare neighed louder, tossing her snout up.

  Her legs shook, but Eleni pushed upright and took some of her weight off her straining arm. “Oh, you like that? Shall I call you Harridan? Or Harry for short?”

  Patting the horse’s neck, she carefully sought her hand tangled in the mane. She couldn’t stop shivering, and her eyes didn’t want to focus. Fingers closed over hers. Slowly, she raised her gaze to the man Zahak had left with her.

  Gripping both of her hands in one of his, he raised a blade. Her eyes widened and her heart pounded so hard she feared she might faint. Staring at him, she didn’t like the sense of brittleness she read in his eyes. A push in the wrong direction, and this man would shatter.

  “You calmed the mare,” the man said, slicing through the coarse mane. “No munakura should have been able to do so.”

  “It was nothing.” She blinked, trying to focus on the stranger, to keep any threat in sight. Supposedly Zahak trusted him, but her senses never lied. “My brother is a beast compared to this poor animal.”

  The sense of sharpness about the man grew into a cutting blade. “I would like to see such a beast.”

  Sucking in her breath, Eleni fought the darkness swallowing her. Ice encased her heart and lungs, thickening the blood in her veins. She crumpled to the ground.

  The man leaned over her. “How did you know to offer water?”

  When she didn’t answer, he shook her hard enough her teeth slammed together. Starbursts exploded in her head, but even if she’d wanted to, she didn’t think she could speak.

  “Who sent you? Why are you here?”

  “Release her, Malum.” Zahak’s voice was a low, raw rumble that strummed her spine. “What have you done to her?”

  He let her go and replied calmly. “Nothing, saif.”

  Limply, she fell back, too cold to shiver any longer. The night sky disappeared, blocked by Zahak’s broad shoulders, but she couldn’t see his face.

  “The vial weakened her. She needs water.”

  A familiar hand cupped her cheek, her forehead, pressed intently against her chest. Was her sluggish heart even beating any longer?

  Hands trembling, Zahak pulled her against him. “She’s freezing.”

  His body radiated blessed heat. She pressed her face against his neck, whimpering at the scalding heat against her icy flesh. He smelled stronger than usual, musk and sweat, blazing from the heat of the battle. Blood and death mingled in his scent, smells that normally clenched her stomach with dread because they meant that someone had died at her brother’s hand.

  With Zahak, though, it enhanced his savagery. He was strong, invincible, fierce.

  If only he could be the one to protect her from Darius.

  The other Keldari touched her forehead and grunted. “Water alone won’t save her. Your body heat will help, but you know what she needs.”

  “Blood.”Zahak shuddered, his voice thickening even as his arms tightened about her. “Fire.”

  Blood? She tried to sit up, to look into his eyes and implore him to not do this thing. Her poor weary heart tried to beat faster. Her brother had a taste for blood, but she did not. She could not afford to be corrupted by such darkness.

  She didn’t believe Zahak derived pleasure from hurting other people. He didn’t feed on such pain like her brother. So how could he expect to force her to taste his blood? Desperate, she tried to refuse, but could only croak.

  His big hand cupped the back of her skull, while his other tugged at his clothing, jerking his shirt open. He slid her face along his body. She could smell the blood—metallic, thick, cloying—the scent of spice and dust and blazing sun.

  Her mouth watered, horrifying her. She wanted to taste his blood. What other horrors would she commit? Would she develop a taste for torture as well? With one last desperate surge, she arched her back, pitching against him.

  “Azharana,” he whispered. The tenderness in his voice would have brought tears to her eyes if she had any such moisture left in her body. “Do not fear my Fire. I won’t give you much. Just enough.”

  Her mouth met a wound in his upper shoulder and he shuddered.

  Rich life, strength, and heat flared to life inside her at the taste. His fingers massaged the back of her neck, his powerful body straining against her, while his blood filled her mouth, slid down her throat, and burned.

  Fire.

  Heat grew in her stomach, flaring higher, flowing down her limbs until she could feel her fingers once more. Immediately, she clutched his shoulders. The world dwindled to him: his scent in her nose, his blood in her mouth, his body. She soaked him in. Thunder filled her ears, a steady beating that she suddenly realized was his heart and hers, beating in tandem.

  Fingers slid down her cheek to gently tilt her face up to him. “Enough, azharana. Any more, and I won’t be able to refuse you all.”

  She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but she didn’t care. Fire blazed in his dark eyes, brighter than the fireball sun of this miserable desert. Yet his hands were tender as he gathered her close and rose, carrying her down the hill. Shadows were strewn about, bodies, tents hanging askew on broken poles. Her chest constricted as the truth dawned on her.

  He’d led his warriors down here. He was wounded. “You, you killed them, didn’t you? Why?”

  “You needed water.” Zahak shrugged. “They had the closest Well.”

  She closed her eyes, dumbfounded, horrified, and reluctantly, she had to admit, moved. He’d killed his own people for her, casually and efficiently.

  “Don’t feel guilt for them, azharana.” His voice sharpened to vicious steel. “They could have offered hospitality but refused. Keldar is a hard land, a hard life, and water is all. We’ve killed each other over water for centuries. This time, I killed for you.”

  Weary yet glowing with that inner heat, she buried her face against his chest and breathed him in. No matter the savagery, thirst, and punishing heat, as long as he held her, she was content to stay in his desert forever.

  FOUR

  In the privacy of his tent, Zahak closed his eyes and drew the woman in his arms close to his body. He let himself imagine just for a moment what she might taste like if he pressed his mouth to hers, if he kissed the hollow of her throat, licked a path to her shoulder, and put his mark in her flesh.

>   No, no, this cannot be. She’s for Amin.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to lay her down on the rug. He drew the now bulging skin of water close and poured a cup and bowl full. No sparing for her, now. They had a Well, purchased with blood and Fire, and he was going to give her every drop if necessary.

  He helped her lift her head and placed the cup to her lips still smeared with his blood. She drank every drop. Dampening a cloth, he carefully wiped her face, instead of licking his blood from her skin as he wished.

  “I saw flames in the sky.” The painful croak of her voice clutched his heart in talons. She reached out and laid her fingers against his forearm, and the longing of his heart stole his breath. “Did you fight a dragon?”

  “Do you know what dra’gwar means?”

  Her fingers tightened on his arm, her eyes searching his. “Dragon warrior. You fight dragons, right?”

  “It means that I have a dragon inside me,” he said lightly, keeping his manner unconcerned. He moved to her neck, cleaning away the droplets of his blood. She inhaled sharply, her fingers clutching him harder, but she didn’t flinch away. “Do you doubt it after feeling my Fire?”

  “Not all blood is so…fiery?”

  Fierce possession filled him, and he smiled, hard and grim. She’d never tasted another, and his beast liked that thought very much indeed. “Only a dra’gwar’s blood burns. Someday, the Fire within will consume me utterly.”

  “And you’ll become a dragon.” She didn’t ask, but he nodded anyway. “Are there very many of your kind?”

  “One thing you must know about Keldar.” He allowed the vicious voice of saif, the doer of dirty deeds, to flatten and chill his voice. “We kill each other faster than any are born, and dra’gwar kill faster than any other. Do not fear, though. Amin is not dra’gwar.”

  “Keldar is a hard land,” she whispered solemnly, her hand still on his arm. Her eyes seared him, sparking with the Fire of his blood. “Must everything be so very hard?”