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  Then he went to tend his mother’s body. She was still young, and lovely. He closed her eyes.

  “She said to take care of the garden,” Calanthe said, very soft.

  He understood now her love for this place, its growing things an antidote to the destruction she had once caused.

  “Ryu? I’m sorry.”

  He dropped a kiss on her temple. “I’m glad you’re safe. And it was her choice.” Through his grief, he was fiercely proud of the woman who had made him, raised him, loved him.

  He buried her there, where seeds might find root in her grave and grow tall and as lovely as she.

  Calanthe took his hand when he was done, not minding the grime. It was a simple pleasure to feel her fingers curled around his own. A reminder that she was there beside him.

  “I need to talk to Kaen,” he said.

  “You can’t face him right now,” she said gently. “And you should clean up first, or he’ll ask about the mud.”

  She was right, of course. He sighed. “You keep me human, and civilized.”

  He took her to his rooms and commanded a bath. The first turned murky from dirt and blood as soon as he lowered himself into it, so he took another, trying to soak out the trials of the last several days. Afterward, Calanthe saw to his wounds.

  The sight of her, head bent while she tied off a bandage, still moist from her bath, stirred him. It had been too long. He had seen her threatened by a sorcerer and a wolf-born. He desperately needed to know she was with him fully, safe, beloved— He placed a hand on her thigh and slid it upward.

  He could smell her reaction, but she moved away. “It’s all right, Ryu.”

  “No. I need this.”

  She caught his mood. “This, then.” She slid downward, her hair moving over him like a living skein of silk, but that was nothing to her lips closing over the head of his cock, warm and liquid.

  That sensation moved down his shaft, up, then farther down. He knotted his fingers in her hair. “Ah, Calanthe, your mouth is hotter than summer…”

  She twisted her head back and forth throughout the next few strokes. He freed his hands from her hair and slid them down to the tops of his thighs, fingers half-curled from the strain of trying not to push her head down deeper.

  She went of her own accord, all the way to the base. He groaned to feel every inch of him inside her mouth. She drew back up teasingly, met his eyes, then buried him down her throat again in a swift motion. From there she quickened the pace, a constant blur of wet heat sliding against his cock, until he knew nothing else but pleasure, a long arc of it, and then shorter bursts following that finally drained the last of the tension from his body.

  Her tongue caressed him a last time, and then she moved up the bed to curl herself around his body. They held each other in simple contentment. It was not only the release she had given him that let him finally relax, but the casual way she draped one leg over his, certain of her place against him.

  Finally he said, “I should see Kaen.”

  They rose and dressed. Ryuan caught her hand in his as they left his chambers, and she gifted him with a smile as they made their way to the royal quarters.

  The guard posted there bent his head, then reached out and rapped sharply on the door. “Lord Ryuan,” he announced.

  The door opened. “Ryu, you’re back!” Kaen glanced at Calanthe. “With company. Come in.”

  Melea rose at their entrance. “Lord Ryuan.”

  Calanthe set her hand over her heart and bent her head. “My lord prince, my lady princess.”

  “This is Calanthe,” Ryuan said.

  Kaen grinned at her. “I couldn’t be happier to meet you at last. Ryuan was brooding over you for seasons, you know.”

  “Really?” she said interestedly.

  Ryuan said, “Calanthe, I need to speak with Kaen…”

  She knew why. Her face turned serious, but then she managed a smile and turned to Melea.

  Ryuan and Kaen stepped away.

  “How did things go with the sorcerer?” Kaen asked quietly, and his somber tone was so much like their mother’s that Ryuan’s heart ached.

  “He had started building a city to draw those with the old gifts.”

  Kaen’s eyes widened but he let Ryuan go on.

  “He’s dead now, and the city destroyed. The people are scattered. I don’t think they meant any harm, only wanted a refuge.”

  “I trust your judgment,” Kaen said. “Are you all right? That looks like a bandage beneath your tunic.”

  “I’m fine. Kaen…I went by our mother’s chambers first. She’s gone. I don’t know where.”

  Kaen passed a hand over his eyes. “You searched the garden?”

  “Yes.”

  “And asked the guard?”

  “He saw nothing.”

  Ryuan hadn’t thought out an elaborate lie to explain the circumstances, but to his relief, his brother did not seem surprised.

  “No one could stop her once she was determined to do something,” Kaen said heavily. “I almost expected her to leave after our father died. I know she traveled much before he convinced her to wed him. It would have happened at some point, I suppose. I wanted her to see her grandchild, though. Melea’s convinced it’s a son.”

  “An heir, then.”

  “I’m hoping not. Then we’ll have to try again.” Kaen grinned. Then the amusement faded. “I’m actually glad.”

  “Glad?” He had to remind himself that Kaen did not know she was dead, only gone from the palace.

  “Yes. She seemed to be wasting away here, always dressed in mourning and never coming to court. There must be something else out there that she found worthwhile, after our father.”

  “I think so,” Ryuan said, thinking of her sacrifice for Calanthe. His brother’s words rang true, even if he did not know the whole story. “You should look after the garden she loved.”

  “Can’t you?” Kaen asked, then, “Not you too, Ryu.”

  “I think I need to leave as well. I’ve lost the taste for hunting men.”

  “You could stay here, without any duties—”

  Ryuan shook his head. “I was never a creature of the court.”

  “No.” Kaen sighed. “I never meant to trap you here. I just wanted you close by.”

  “I know. It’s been my home, because of you.” When Kaen looked at him, he saw Ryuan as someone who belonged. That had been all he needed for a long time. But when Calanthe looked at him, he knew he belonged to her. My heart.

  He sought her gaze as he and Kaen returned, expecting her smile and the warmth it always triggered. He was considerably startled to find Calanthe and Melea laughing together. He had never heard Melea laugh in his presence at all. But when he came to tell Calanthe that they were ready to leave, Melea not only looked him in the eye, but smiled as she said, “You must return often. My lord husband will miss you sorely. And you’ll want to see your nephew, of course.” Her hand dropped to the curve of her stomach.

  “Of course,” was all he could say before drawing Calanthe to him. They made their last farewells, and as soon as they were out in the hall he asked her, “What did you say?”

  She smiled at him. “She asked why I wasn’t afraid of you. I explained exactly how I bend you to my will.”

  “Bend me to your will?” He gave her his most menacing look, to no effect. “And how do you do that?”

  “Something along these lines.” She stopped, and when he did the same, held his face and studied it with a tenderness that made him realize all over again how dark her eyes were, and how they held the world. Then she kissed him. Slowly, lingeringly, her mouth seeking and making promises.

  It took him a moment to recover. Then he said cautiously, “You didn’t go into more detail than that, did you?”

  She couldn’t hide her amusement. “Melea said she’d have to try some of it on Kaen.”

  He hadn’t thought he could be embarrassed. But at the same time, the thought of his brother’s wife welcomin
g him, even with an amused smile, was heartening. He now understood a little why Kaen had wed her. He would have to visit. But he didn’t want to stay here—he didn’t need the glittering trappings of court, nor even the company of the other wolf-born. All he needed was Calanthe.

  He set his hands low on her hips, his thumbs stroking close to her center. “Why don’t you try some of it on me now?”

  Their kiss this time was not so slow and sweet. Then she pulled away and said teasingly, “If you can catch me!”

  He cared not at all who wondered why a woman was laughing as a wolf chased her outside.

  The storm was just passing. When he caught her, as a man, he pressed her against a tree and watched the raindrops sparkle in her lashes as she closed her eyes in anticipation. She could not have been more beautiful.

  “I love you,” he said, and kissed her.

  The last of the rain seemed to wash away all the bitterness of their past. All that lingered was a clear sweetness on his tongue, as though he had sipped some of her essence during their kiss. Whatever taste he left in her mouth made her smile. And his lips seemed to be curving too, of their own accord.

  The clouds broke apart and sunlight fell warmly upon them.

  It was bright all of a sudden, but he didn’t bother shielding his eyes from the dazzle of the sun because he had no need of sight. Each of his senses strained toward her, and always would, he knew. Bending, he pressed his smile to hers.

  Let the season of rains end, he thought. She would still be here.

  About the Author

  Karalynn works at a dot-com in the San Francisco Bay Area, but she much prefers writing fiction to code. When she’s not doing either, she enjoys running, dark beer, and music with unusual time signatures, although not at the same time. You can find more of her writing at www.karalynnlee.com.

  Magic bites…

  Myla by Moonlight

  © 2009 Inez Kelley

  Created at Prince Taric’s birth, Myla is a spell, an enchantment designed to appear and protect him when he needs it most. She has always been content to do her duty…until one night of forbidden passion leaves her longing to experience life—and love—as a mortal woman. Yet the risk is too great. Even if her blood runs as red as his, she can never give him the one thing he needs: a child.

  Taric’s blessing—and his curse—is knowing the kingdom’s future depends on his producing an heir to continue the bloodline. His bond with Myla has always been that of protector and protected. When it suddenly becomes something much more, he unwittingly sentences his people to certain death.

  An old enemy is plotting to destroy all he holds dear: his lands, his people, his father, and his lover. And this time, even if they fight tooth and blade, their shared magic may not be enough to save them…

  Warning: This book contains a shape-shifting bodyguard, sizzling sex scenes, supernatural lilac mist, swordfighting and heartbreaking sacrifices. No jaguars were harmed in the writing of this story.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Myla by Moonlight:

  Once more, he took her hand and they maneuvered across the slick rocks. He eased down beside her, releasing her fingers but only to flatten them to his thigh and cover them with his own. Heat hotter than the sun’s blaze burned her palm but she did not remove it.

  Side by side, they spoke of minor things, the color of specific blooms nearby, the harvesting schedule and a heron that glided over the stream. Taric explained about wings and flight but Myla barely heard the words. The grace of the bird took her breath. So effortless and serene, it conquered the air with ease and settled on the water with barely a ripple.

  Myla found leisure with Taric to be a joyful and an enlightening time. His laugh was something she had not heard much of, its timbre changed from his youth to a deep, rich tone which stirred her belly.

  She laughed at him when he fetched the berry pouch, hissing and complaining about the frigid water. The sound surprised her. Had she ever laughed before? It felt good in her throat, tumbling over her tongue like a rolling drum.

  Taric knelt before her and opened the drawstring. “Again, close your eyes.”

  “Taric, I am able to feed myself.”

  “I know, but I want to. Let me?” Held by his bronze gaze, she looked deep into his eyes and nodded. How could she deny him this simple request? She closed her eyes and parted her lips. One frosty berry landed on her tongue. The flavor had changed, like he’d promised. Before sweet succulence had filled her mouth but this chilled morsel had a bite. Zest and tang overshadowed the sensual flavor, spiked the sugar and increased the richness to near wine-like taste. An appreciative sound grew in her throat.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever envied a berry before.” His murmur opened her eyes and the rapture on his face silenced her.

  Perhaps the coldness made the fruit hard to swallow or maybe it was way he stared into her eyes. She read hunger in his gaze and acted instinctively, delving her fingers into his pouch and pulling a blackberry free. Her fingers shook, touching his lips. Tilting his head, he took the offered bite but drew her finger inside his mouth with it, his tongue skating along her skin.

  Rough bark scratched into her behind as she pressed down against a sudden ache deep in her hips. Her fingertip left the warmth of his mouth too slowly. Another firm fruit rose and she felt powerless to refuse it. Mimicking him, she flicked her tongue over his skin as the berry entered her mouth. Taric drew a harsh breath. Against her lip, his finger strayed, tracing the fullness along the bottom.

  “I like the chilled berries.” She didn’t know she spoke until her voice whispered out. The sound broke whatever haze surrounded them and he dropped his hand. Loss rushed around her like a winter’s breath.

  Taric avoided her face and tugged his boots over his wet feet. “I’m glad. I wanted to leave on a pleasant note. I ride for Claverham tomorrow.”

  His words chilled her, an icy river on her sun-heated flesh. “Yes, I know. The treaty is vital to ensure the safety of the southland border but I do not trust the Lutas. How many men do you take?”

  With a weary sigh, he cupped her elbow and drew her back into the meadow. “A half crew I believe will be enough. It doesn’t seem fitting to ride into peace talks with a full war battalion.”

  Myla reviewed the men mentally and nodded her approval. “Yes, it should. I shall be on guard as well.”

  “When aren’t you?” he laughed. “Half a crew in full regal dress and a series of long, boring meals, chess games and archery exhibitions when fifteen minutes of frank conversation could accomplish the same. Sometimes it just seems like a waste of energy, doesn’t it?”

  “Perhaps, but the civil tone will be aided by the formality. You like the pageantry of the crown, do you not?”

  “Most times.” Taric plucked a stray stalk of grass and whirled it idly while they walked. “The rituals are…grounding, familiar. I know what’s expected, what’s been done by a hundred generations before me and my role in the play. Sometimes that’s exactly what I feel like, a performer repeating lines and scenes cast long ago and known by everyone. It’s not me, Taric the man, speaking then, but Prince Taric Batu, Heir Apparent to the Segur throne. He’s the one who wears a diadem and speaks with formal tones and civic duty. I’m just along to swing the sword and clean up the blood.”

  “Would you cease to be prince if you had a choice?”

  “It’s not a choice I was ever given. No, I like the role enough, have been taught from birth what’s required of me and don’t know any other way. I just wonder what being a prince in a time of quiet is like or will I always be a ruler in wartime?” He flung the blade of grass, now twisted and limp, far into the wind. “But enough war talk. Tell me about you.”

  “Me?” Myla halted abruptly and he walked a pace ahead before turning to her. “You know all there is to know of me.”

  Tall butter-yellow wildflowers danced in the breeze and he ran a skimming hand over the tops, stirring them further. A bright orange-and-black butterf
ly flitted about his head and he batted it away with a flick.

  The play of colors around him—the shading of a single hue into a million dimensions—captivated her. Somewhere in her breast a fire grew, cast from those same brilliant tones from copper to cream. It warmed her from within like the sunbeams warmed her flesh. Taric was beautiful, golden among the yellow.

  One delicate bloom plucked from a willowy stalk appeared before her eyes, held in a hand she longed to feel touch her once more. She took his offering with hesitant fingers.

  “I know nothing about you, Myla. Well, I know you’re fierce and stronger than any man. You’re a beautiful woman or a massive cat. Strawberries and blackberries make you close your eyes in pleasure. If needed, you have and will kill to protect me.” His curious eyes searched her face for more. “But tell me about you. Do you dream, Myla? When you’re part of me, do you miss the sunshine? Are you ever apart from me without my knowing? Have you ever thought of me in any other way than a duty?”

  Words locked in her throat and choked her. She existed for no reason other than to serve as his guardian. She knew everything about him yet nothing of what made him how he was. They were closer than two beings ever should be and yet separate and alone. Sadness touched her, a butterfly of rainbowed beauty drenched by a sudden rainfall. Steeling her face to hide her emotion, she cocked her head to the side.

  “I do not dream within you. I accepted this duty and I stand guard. Sunshine touches your flesh and I know of its warmth through you. I am with you every minute, Taric, even if you do not behold me with your eyes.”

  Something close to anger colored his face and he jumped in front of her, his chest brushing her breasts. Vehemence emanated from his body in sheets of blistering heat. No, not anger, something…close…burning…needing. “But have you ever thought about me as other than a prize to be protected?”

  Myla didn’t have the ability to lie to him but strategic maneuvers could be employed. The wilting flower became a tool of distraction and she twirled it between her fingers. The spinning buttery color quivered with her fraud. “I do not allow those thoughts to linger in my mind.”