Scarlet Nights. Lucinda Betts
Where did they lead? His eyes followed the tracks north. The chase was on again!
But Axel flashed a glance at the city guard. The soldier wouldn’t want a slaver here, Axel knew—but would he trust the word of a white man, a white trader? Axel doubted it, and he didn’t have time to find out. Ignoring the mounted guard, Axel pointed his mare toward the prints and pushed her to a trot. He’d do this alone.
“Hey!” one the guards called to him. “You there! On the bay horse! Stop!”
But Axel didn’t stop. He nudged his mare into a canter.
“Hey!” the guard called again. His voice echoed off the brick walls. “You there! Stop! Show your papers.”
Axel snorted. Papers, indeed. Why should he have to prove he was a free man? Did any of the black faces around him have to prove it?
“Stop!”
Axel was beyond obeying. His mare’s ears were back now. She was on the trail. The hindquarters of a horse—a dun with a black tail—vanished as its owner turned a corner. The slaver was heading into the potters’ quarters.
Axel galloped past streets of shelving, each bearing pottery. Stacks of blood-red bricks, unfired and wet, lined the street.
“Slow down, fool!” A woman pelted him with a handful of wet clay. It slid down his arm. “You’ll buy this if you ruin it.”
“Apologies!” he shouted, but he didn’t stop. He could see the horse he was chasing. It was a Barbarian, just the same as he’d seen in the desert, and sweat lathered its sand-colored coat.
“You on the bay, stop now!” The guard called again. Axel heard the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath. As long as the soldier wasn’t throwing spears or daggers…
Suddenly the narrow road he’d been following opened up, and a huge statuary fountain stood before him: an oversized naked woman standing in front of a wall. Water poured down the wall in a clean sheath. It also flowed over her breasts and filled the brimming pool with a loud splatter. The street ended here.
“Hey!” Axel shouted. “Stop!”
But the slaver ignored him as much as Axel ignored the city guard. His quarry galloped straight toward the fountain wall, and Axel’s heart pounded. He had nowhere to run.
“Stop!” Axel called to the man again, knowing it was futile. He pulled his dagger from his belt and prepared to throw it.
The man still didn’t stop, didn’t alter his path. Instead he rushed right toward the wall of rushing water.
What in the name of the One God’s balls? Axel brought his throwing arm back and took aim at the rider’s shoulder. His mare remained steady beneath him. Focusing on the curve of the man’s upper arm, he hurled the weapon.
The blade would’ve landed true. It would’ve brought the slaver down into the glimmering white pool surrounding the huge statue—except someone slammed into the side of his horse just as he threw, and the dagger blasted uncontrolled through the air. It flew high and fast, having all the power of Axel’s well-trained muscle behind it.
It hit the statue’s head with a reverberating clank.
“I told you to stop,” the city guard called.
Or at least that’s what Axel thought he said. The smashing sound of the statue’s head hitting the water and exploding ceramic obscured the guard’s words.
His horse, not liking the way the city guard’s mount slammed into her, swung her hips back and lashed. Her hooves connected with the other horse’s shoulders. The guard’s horse slid on the wet tiles. The animal hit the ground with a splash and a thud.
Despite the chaos, Axel scanned the grotto. Where had the slaver gone? The man couldn’t vanish into thin air.
“You bastard.” The guard pulled himself from the water as his horse struggled to gain its footing inside the slick pool of water. “Stop right now. You’ve destroyed the Shrine to the Supplicant Queen.”
But Axel didn’t care. He spied movement. Was that some sort of door closing behind the fountain?
His mare launched herself toward it, her hooves scrambling over the wet tile. Cool water poured over them as they ran through the cascade.
Ahead, the secret door was almost closed. The slaver was almost free. His mare rushed the wall, and he just managed to get his fingers between the white-tiled panel and the matching wall before it closed.
“Pus and puke,” he cursed. He managed to pry the thing open again just as the city guard’s horse regained its feet. The door was heavy, and he widened the gap just far enough for his horse to squeeze through.
“Go!” His mare, brave creature that she was, rushed into the dark tunnel without hesitation.
Not wanting the city guard to follow, Axel found a huge iron ring on the inside of the door and jerked it. The door closed with a hissing sound, shutting out the sunlight.
Axel examined the tunnel’s interior. Two Barbarian horses stood without riders. Their reins had been looped around an iron rail. Funny. He’d thought he’d been chasing one. He had been chasing one. The most interior horse—a gelding, he saw—was clean and rested. The other was breathing hard and covered with sweat. The slaver had inside help.
Did he know either horse? He heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, but still, he paused. Barbarian horses were notoriously difficult to tell apart. All had black manes and tail, and all had dun coats. These were no different.
Axel slid out of the saddle, his boots sloshing in the shallow pool. He tied his reins around his mare’s neck and laid his palm on her neck. She might be the best horse he’d ever had, but his brother’s life was at stake, and the man he chased could lead him to Grey. If Axel failed, some soldier—some lucky soldier—would claim the mare.
He headed toward the stairs.
Except the cool horse shifted then, and Axel looked twice. The gelding had a scar on its coronet band, a short slash of white in the black above its right rear foot. The scar was less than the width of his thumb.
Far above him, Axel heard a door squeak, and he took the steps two at a time.
It wasn’t until he hit the first landing that he realized where he was. A huge pennant hung down the long wall, a black trefoil against a scarlet background. The queen’s colors.
He had followed the slaver into the palace of the Supplicant Queen.
Even as Grip’s skilled lips and tongue brought her body to the precipice of an orgasm, Solstice wanted to cry—not in pleasure, but in sorrow.
He slid his hot tongue between her folds and over her swollen nub, and tears seared her cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away—she couldn’t risk leaving any hint of regret for the queen’s guards.
For a moment she wished she were a child again, back in a world of happiness and ease—a world without politics. Before she could stop herself, Axel’s face sprang to mind, but she pushed it away before the memory could hurt her.
Grip slid his fingers deep into her, curving them to fit her form. Despite his youth, he knew his way around a woman’s body. His fingers caressed the spot deep within her, the spot that brought women into the loving grace of She Who Listens. Swirling his thumb around her nub, he touched the goddess spot again, and Solstice gasped, arching her body to meet him.
Grip’s tongue circled slowly, and she couldn’t think anymore. He slid his fingers out, teasing her now. Writhing in near ecstasy, she felt the faint touch of the goddess in her mind.
Solstice had chosen this path, but not until this moment—not until he brought her right to the orgasm’s edge where she had to push her goddess away—did she wonder if she’d chosen correctly. What if she ruined her life for nothing?
Grip