Unicorn Quest Read online

  In this complex world of clans and A’tril, few found a natural mate, one that they could psychically bond with much as she had bonded with the unicorn. This r’uban, this enemy to her plans, was a true mate. She doubted he was gifted enough to realize it, but if she didn’t break the link, she wouldn’t be able to resist him. This realization, along with her mounting heat, terrified her, and she wrenched her lips free. "Please, nay … nay…."

  She hated the fear in her tone, hated the pleading overtones, but it brought him to his senses. He lifted his head, his dark hair tumbling into even darker eyes that absorbed her like a thirsty man downing ale. He took one glance at her exposed breast and swallowed, hard, twice. With a groan and a shove, he was on his feet without explanation or apology. He yanked her upright. "Fix yourself."

  She stared in horror at her exposure. With trembling fingers, she secured her top and covered her hair. Every instinct told her to run, forget the unicorn, forget her allegiance to the council of A’tril, and run. She didn’t. Perhaps running would have been best, but not without the stallion. Instead, she tilted her head up and took a step toward the unicorn.

  Ry lifted his weapon. "Don’t."

  She halted.

  "You were misinformed. We show more compassion than many of the lesser clans. As proof, I will spare your life."

  With those words, he spun her about and bound her wrists behind her back. She struggled against him, but he was nearly twice her size and she was nothing more than a nuisance. Fear threatened to take hold again, and her mind raced for the right words to lessen his fury or at the very least to offer a compromise. After all, the unicorn was still bound to her. Only she couldn’t think past the bindings, past the noose he placed over her head and tied to a low, hanging branch.

  "So, this is how you intend to resolve things, by making me your captive," she finally managed.

  He didn’t respond, only gave her a small shove that forced her to her knees. The rope around her neck was just taut enough to hold her still in that awkward, uncomfortable position.

  He looked to the west, watched the sun dipping into the horizon, staining the sky as crimson as his robes.

  "We will bed here for the night and start home come morning."

  "We?"

  Again, he said nothing. He left her there and started for the forest to gather kindling and logs for a fire.

  * * * *

  Brec Para, r’uban of Ror q’Para, the Clan of the Eagle--second among the clans--stood before his father’s throne. "He has disappeared." Brec snapped his finger, the sound loud and startling in the enormous chamber. "Just like that. He evaded our best trackers. He evaded me!"

  Both father and son had a lean, bronzed look to them. That, along with their light hair and bold green eyes, made them facsimiles of each other. On closer inspection, one could see the uban’s aged countenance contrast against his son’s younger appearance. Both, though, had hard hearts and sadistic minds. They thrived on the clan way and lacked the scruples to even consider a future devoid of blood and power.

  Kule, the uban, stroked the ebony locks of the slave at his feet. Though immaculately groomed, she had fresh welt marks across her bare back and a vacant gaze. The king had broken her spirit, and he’d soon rid himself of her, but for the moment he chose to be tender. Moments like that were rare. "It matters not. He is in search of a fresh stallion, but he’ll never find one as good as Warrior and have it trained in time for the race. First among clans is as good as ours."

  "They have beaten us one too many years, and it still burns in my gullet that they refused our offer for Raya as a bride." He fingered his sword, eyes blazing. "How could they be so foolish? The marriage would have bonded our families and none would ever dared come against either."

  "You would have still desired to win the race."

  "Aye, but it would have been a thing of pride, not of necessity."

  Kule’s fingers knotted in the slave’s dark hair and he pulled her up onto his lap. A whimper escaped her lips, but she didn’t resist him in any way. The girl had once been a princess much like Raya, fragile, over-protected. It hadn’t been much of a challenge to break her. "The Ror q’Trall has became weak, mostly due to that fool, Ry Trall, who has encouraged his father to move away from the old traditions. They actually value their women as more than commodities. They treat them as equals and give them a choice in their mates. This foolish sensitivity will be their downfall."

  Feet braced apart, Brec stopped pacing. "The sensitivity, though, is only for their own blood. They buy and sell human flesh with as little thought as any other clan. They didn’t earn the title Clan of Blood for their sensitivity, Father. I remain wary of them, and will do whatever it takes to disband them."

  The king lifted a brow. The two men had such chiseled, graceful looks none would suspect the malice lurking in their hearts. "Do not let your lust for the princess allow our clan to be disqualified. She will be your bride yet. We will find a way even if we do not win the race."

  "Nay, they had their chance at an honorable mating. When I win the race, I will snatch Raya from under their noses and make her my slave. I will break her, but slowly. I wish to savor the victory. Just as I will savor having the r’uban eat Warrior’s dust. I will win that race, father."

  "Don’t be impatient. We will get our due, and take the girl in a raid. By winning the race, we will gain a portion of their wealth and armies. We will be strong enough to break them." The king gazed down at the shapely slave in his arms. "Leave me, boy. The race is yet a time away, and I will have this one serve my needs."

  Brec pivoted about and left the chamber, muttering, "Old fool."

  His father didn’t recognize the importance of having everything in place, taking precautions. He didn’t realize just how much was at stake. What if the Ror q’Trall could prove the r’uban of their rival clan had murdered their prize stallion? What if their prince did find a better beast?

  Brec intended to leave nothing to chance.

  With a set stride, he raced through the palace in search of his spies. He needed to know exactly what the r’uban of Ror q’Trall was about. Perhaps, he mused, it would be wise if the prince had an accident before the race.

  * * * *

  Gathering up the makings for a fire gave Ry the excuse he needed to distance himself from the lass and collect his thoughts. The wise thing would be to kill her. Her psychic link to the unicorn would be broken, and he’d be free of that damn lavender gaze that held just the right mixture of vulnerability and fear, courage and determination. The sort of mixture that tempted a man to relinquish barriers better kept in place.

  And her not even a fully grown woman. Of marriageable age, but not at all experienced. A woman would have known better than to buck against him like that. Despite her initial lack of resistance, her kiss had lacked skill. He would bet his sidearm that she had never been kissed before. Plus, there was an inkling of more, a fusion, a connection that he had never felt with any other woman, except perhaps one. That, however, was a ridiculous attraction since he had known her but through a lock of hair and its residual psychic essence. The woman had been but a possibility, a longing, a hope that ended in bitter disappointment.

  Above him a menagerie of foliage shifted and whispered under a twilight breeze. Streamers of rosy light dusted the forest floor, and night creatures began to stir, chattering the inane language of darkness. He shook the frustration from his mind and focused on his current problem. A’tril, what the hell was he going to do with A’tril too young to be an outcast, too old to be adopted by a clan, and too bound to the unicorn he needed?

  He quickly assembled what he needed, for he dared not leave the lass alone for long. She was altogether too quick-witted, and he wouldn’t be shocked to find her trying to free herself.

  He wasn’t wrong. Rather than the lass working the knots loose, though, it was the unicorn nibbling at the rope looped around the branch.

  Chapter Four

  At the sight of Ry, S
ahra looked up at the unicorn and shook her head. It meandered away to nibble on grass.

  "You truly do have a hold on the beast," Ry said, not bothering to reproach her for trying to escape. He would do no less in her position. "Just how well do you communicate with him?"

  "His name is Dagda," she responded as if that were answer enough.

  Ry paused from arranging stones in a circle. "The name you gave him?"

  "The name his breed calls him."

  He tried not to look shocked. "They have a language?"

  Her cheeks flushed under the effort of maintaining her position. If she relaxed her stance, she would hang herself. Ry didn’t intend to keep her in that state for long. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her, but he didn’t want her guessing that too soon.

  "It’s not really a language, just impressions, but I understand what he means somehow. I’m loosely translating his name."

  Ry arranged dried grass, twigs and logs, used flint to spark a flame, and then added more wood. As darkness claimed the dimming day, the air snapped with a sudden chill. "I’m glad you have decided to become cooperative."

  "I don’t have much of a choice," she bit out.

  He studied her a moment. Why didn’t the compliancy ring true? He unhooked a waterskin from his belt, set it aside and secured a few scraps of dried meat from a pouch. "Thirsty? Hungry?"

  She shook her head, then winced as the rope rubbed her neck raw.

  He shrugged. "Very well. It matters not to me if you starve."

  He shoved salted meat into his mouth, one piece after another, chewing for several minutes before taking a long swig of water. Afterward, he stood and approached the unicorn. Nostrils flared, hooves hit the earth with thunderous power. "Tell him I’m a friend. I spotted a stream just beyond the tree line, and I’d like to lead him there for a drink."

  "Do you take me for an idiot? I do that and you’ll leave me here trussed up like fowl ready to be butchered."

  Ry frowned. She really did have a low opinion of his clan. It was to be expected since they themselves spread rumors of atrocities never committed to keep raiders at bay. Still, coming from this waif it struck something within. He didn’t want her thinking him a monster. Simultaneously, it unsettled him that he cared what she thought.

  Unhooking his belt, he dropped it just inches before her. "That holds my weapons, my provisions and my branding seal. I’d be a fool to leave them behind. Now will you allow Dagda to see me as a friend?"

  Sahra knew he could manage without a weapon or provisions, especially mounted on a unicorn. He could easily flee any hostility and live on stream water and forest fodder for days. However, the branding seal was another matter. It was unique, a design of his making. It provided identification, acted as currency, sealed treaties, bonded slaves and wives alike. A prince would never leave his seal behind. It was the equivalent of his word of honor.

  "Show me the seal," she said.

  He snatched it from the belt and held it up to her. She hesitated a moment more, then nodded. This time she didn’t close her eyes, just stared blankly. Dagda trotted toward the prince, mane shimmering under the dying light.

  Ry smiled, fingers caressing the stallion’s magnificent coat. "Nice to meet you, Dagda. I believe we will have many adventures together."

  "I doubt it," Sahra snapped, then bit her bottom lip, making it obvious she hadn’t intended to say that aloud.

  "You have a true hatred for my clan, do you not?"

  "No more than for any others who raid, rape and murder," she said. Her bottom dropped slightly, causing her to the end the sentence with a gasp. The rope tightened around her neck and she sprang upright to keep from choking.

  Without a word, Ry loosened the rope enough to allow her to sit.

  "Better?"

  She nodded.

  "Take this opportunity to know me and you will see neither I nor those of my home are as fearsome as our reputation suggests."

  With that he used the chi’nyr to lead the unicorn to the stream, cooing to it along the way, using his limited psychic ability to form a bond. He knew he couldn’t break the lass’s hold, but she had opened a channel and Ry thought perhaps he could widen her link with the creature to include him. Probably not, but it was worth trying.

  By the time he returned to the small camp, the lass had braced herself against the tree and slept. Moonbeams battled firelight, creating shadows and flashes of muted color over her slender form while the wind tugged at her head covering, loosening a few wisps of golden locks. He had noticed its shaggy length when her covering had come undone. Despite her assertion of being of age, her long, pale locks had never been sheared, a ritual performed after the first full moon of a lass’s nineteenth year. It proclaimed her a woman.

  How could any clan be cold-hearted enough to cast out a minor? He still didn’t know what he would do with her, but releasing her wasn’t an option. At the same time, if his father knew she had bonded with this particular unicorn, he’d have her killed without thought. After all, she was only A’tril.

  Something tugged at his heart as he stared at her lovely face, as he remembered how unwittingly she returned his kiss with sincere passion.

  He shook his head, wondering if this was just the lingering effect of her psychic attack. He stomped away, secured his belt, and then bedded down next to the campfire, dozing lightly in the way of a warrior.

  Sahra waited until she heard his steady breathing before using the blade she unsheathed from her boot to saw at her bindings. The unicorn had been a diversion. By the Creator, it would have taken Dagda a week to nibble through the rope. It surprised her that the prince didn’t realize that. It also surprised her that he dared to sleep. She could only guess that he didn’t consider her a threat. How could he know she would be the greatest threat he ever encountered? She could almost feel sorry for him.

  Actually, she did feel something. Damn his kiss, it touched her. Double damn him for being her natural mate. Natural mates were not unheard of by any means, but the occurrence was still rare enough to taunt her with its irony.

  If only it were merely lust. She could handle that. But her mind had opened to him during that kiss and she had seen his heart. She didn’t like what she saw, for he had honor, courage and loyalty. She didn’t see the bloodlust she associated with his clan, or clans like his. It made her question her allegiance to the A’tril.

  Then she remembered the flash of steel. The screams. The deaths.

  She couldn’t let anything or anyone stop her, not even discovering a true mate. With fresh vengeance she continue to sever the rope with her wickedly sharp knife. When at last she was free, she rubbed her numb arms before attacking the noose. Ripping the rope from her neck, she massaged the raw flesh for several seconds before tiptoeing toward Ry. She knelt inches away, blade in hand. She should kill him. The council would applaud her actions, but she had never murdered anyone before, and she could not now, especially not him.

  She watched the movement of shadows and firelight upon his countenance, the way it tinted his strong chin and high cheekbones. Her gaze slipped over muscles defined beneath the robe, then lingered on his lips, lips that had claimed hers. She realized then she could not harm him even if he were the enemy. Their bond was too strong. She barely knew him, but she’d feel his loss to the end of her existence. She slipped the knife into its sheath, softly kissed his brow and started to rise.

  Before she could, strong hands wrapped around her forearms and toppled her to the ground. "No!" she screamed, cursing herself for being a weak fool and getting caught yet again.

  "I should have killed you," she ranted as he trapped her beneath muscular thighs for a second time.

  "Why didn’t you?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into hers even as he fiddled with his belt, extracted his branding seal and thrust it into the fire.

  She watched the movement. Her mouth felt dry. Her heard pounded as if a herd of stallions thundered through it. She shook her head.

  "Answer m
e!"

  "No!"

  He twisted the seal into the burning ashes. "You have never killed before, have you?"

  She kept her eyes on the brand until he caught her chin between two fingers and forced her to look at him. "Have you?"

  "I haven’t."

  "But that’s not why you didn’t do it now, is it?"

  "I just couldn’t, all right? I just couldn’t."

  "Why?"

  "Because we kissed," she blurted.

  "And you felt something in that kiss, didn’t you?"

  She shook her head.

  He lifted the brand from the fire. It glowed. He yanked her top to one side, exposing her shoulder and forearm. If he branded the latter, she’d be owned, a slave, and that was worse then being A’tril. Many preferred it, for at least they were part of a clan, but Sahra relished her freedom.

  "Don’t," she whispered. "By the Creator, don’t do this."

  "What does the kiss have to do with it?" he said, holding the brand to the flames once more.

  She followed the brand, then watched his eyes, so cold, hard, determined.

  She collected what little moisture she had in her mouth and spat at him.

  He gathered her wrists in one hand and trapped them over her head, ignoring the wetness on his cheek. With his free hand, he lifted the brand once more.

  "Last chance, child."

  "Because I sensed an honorable man, because you touched something inside me, because you made me feel, because I haven’t felt anything for more than two years. That’s it. That’s all of it," she belted out, holding back the truth of their connection. "Now, let me go!"

  He didn’t oblige her, but his voice softened. "What’s your name?"

  She blinked. No one cared about A’tril’s name. A’tril didn’t even deserve a name.

  Yet she responded with a defiant lilt. "Sahra."