Chapter 7: Warrior vs. Weapon
If you like music while you read, try "Bring Me Back to Life" by Ht Bristol and Charlie Bannister. It's what I was listening to when I wrote these scenes!
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~ TARKYN ~
With a terrified grunt, Tarkyn threw the spear aside. He didn't miss the relief that flashed in her eyes as it clattered to the stone floor a few feet away, bouncing. But he couldn't follow it with his eyes, because she was coming for him.
Many times over the course of his life, Tarkyn had considered what the moment he met his mate would be like. He'd imagined how it would feel to recognize each other. Wondered if they would both sense it, or whether he or she might be blinded for a time. On lonely nights he'd even given in to fantasies of a faceless, proud female, prowling towards him, ready to pounce.
He'd never considered that she would be anything but a lion.
He'd never conceived that he might face her from a place of weakness.
He'd never imagined that his senses would fight the draw.
But fight they did.
Tarkyn shuddered at the battle raging within him—instincts clashing spears with his soul, the warrior within roaring against the lover.
Harth didn't pick up her pace. She advanced slowly, step by small step, giving him time to see her coming. But the sight of her only set his blood alight, while his head screamed at him that the enemy drew near!
Then she closed the final inches, planting her feet between his, only a hairsbreadth of space between their bodies so that if he leaned ever so slightly forward, her breasts would brush his ribs.
Their eyes locked, and hers—aqua-blue and shining bright—widened slightly. She raised a hand, reaching slowly for his chest, but his skin prickled where she passed, the pin-hairs rising, seeking her touch.
She stopped breathing as she opened her palm, hesitantly, fingers trembling, as she lay her hand at the center of his chest.
Tarkyn's heart detonated.
Her touch jolted through him, lighting fires in his blood that raced from that place where she touched, an inferno roaring through his body, crackling in his veins to light his limbs.
Her eyes widened further and she gasped. "Can you feel th—?"
Tarkyn groaned and descended on her, taking her precious face in his hands, delving the depths of her velvet mouth. The mating call broke in his throat, little more than a tortured huff, but she shivered and clung to his waist, his chest, pinned against him by the strength of his embrace.
He knew he should be gentle.
Creator's Mane, she didn't even know him! But he could feel her, there with him, deep in yearning, arching into him, seeking more.
He kissed her with the passion and ardor of years alone, waiting.
He kissed her with the fury and fear of an Alpha male brought to his knees.
He wrapped his arms around her and swore to himself that he would never let her go—even as his mind screamed that he had no choice! That he could not betray his vows! That she was a tool of the enemy!
Harth, breathless and whining, clung to him, buried in the onslaught of his kiss, her fingers clawing at his back as if she could press herself into his skin, tattoo herself there.
And he wanted her to.
Creator's Light, he wanted her not simply because his body screamed for release. He wanted her to be a part of him. He needed her. It was impossible, but true.
Tarkyn groaned again and Harth's kiss deepened, she stretched up on her toes, pressing herself into him, clawing at him, desperate.
He wanted to laugh with joy.
He wanted to weep with relief.
He wanted to plunge into her body and—
He took a step to the side, intending to walk her to the furs without breaking the kiss, but his cursed knees, still weak from the ritual, gave and he stumbled.
But Harth caught him, breaking the kiss to help him to the furs. But never losing touch, lips still brushing skin between soft words of encouragement, hands stroking and exploring, even as they supported, until he sat heavily down on the furs, and Harth dropped into his lap, straddling him and took his mouth again.
He brought one hand up to cup the back of her head, the other flattened at her lower back.
Kissing her felt like coming home after war—the sheer rightness of it, the heavy relief. Tongues teasing, lips full and soft, breath rushing, quick and shallow, Tarkyn made love to her mouth in a pitiable reflection of what he yearned to do to her body. But before he could roll her over and lay her on the furs, she broke the kiss again and, leaning into his hand at her back, dropped her head, baring her throat.
Tarkyn, stunned, instinctively dove for her, to open his mouth on her skin, to take the offering she gave, but then caught himself, groaning, closing his eyes and fighting for control.
She had one hand buried in his hair, the other on his shoulder.
Resting his forehead against her chin, he made himself ask. "Harth… do you know what you do?" In the leonine tribe—in any predator group—to offer your throat was the most vulnerable and self-sacrificing thing a mate could do. It demonstrated trust on a level that couldn't be possible so quickly.
Could it?
Her fingers tightened in his hair, but she didn't lift her head. "I'm a wolf, Tarkyn. Of course I know."
He screwed his eyes tightly closed, but only allowed himself to trace the line of her neck with his nose, inhaling her scent. "But you can't be ready… how can you offer yourself so freely?" he rasped, pleading.
"I can feel you," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion. "I can feel your heart. Your strength. Your… sense of right. Tarkyn, you're my mate. Your heart is for me. I know it. Just like mine is for you. I've waited for you. So long." Her voice cracked and Tarkyn groaned.
He allowed himself only the dart of a tongue, the barest lick, to taste the salt of her skin and take it into himself.
"Tarkyn…" she breathed, bringing both hands to his head, holding him there. He was trembling, he realized, when she wrapped her arms around his head.
Then, impossibly, her voice bloomed in his head.
'Don't be afraid. I will never hurt you. I vowed it before the Creator. I will protect you with my life.'
Tarkyn blew out a breath against her collarbones, huffing a disbelieving laugh. "I don't need your protection," he said, awed. "It is I who will protect you!"
He made himself lift his head and meet her eyes—her red-rimmed eyes, shining in the morning light as her emotions welled to match his.
"Harth," he said hoarsely. "Are you certain about… us? Utterly certain?"
"I'm certain," she said without hesitation, and her beautiful face broke into a smile so wide and bright with joy he had to kiss her again.
But after a moment, she pulled away and met his eyes again, searching them.
"Are you certain, Tarkyn?" she breathed. "About us? Are you sure you're my mate?"
Both their chests heaved, their shoulders rising and falling quickly, their bodies trembling. So it was very, very noticeable when Tarkyn went still.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone