Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html a wave. Yet he didn't clench her. She felt the heaviness in her loins, the solid weight of her own passion, twined with the man-fear at the back of her throat, lurking at the roots of her muscles, waiting to lock her in its grip. All distant. She pulled at his belt buckle,right hand … "You want me naked," he whispered. He slid off the bed to unbuckle his kilt, then waited, kneeling, for her to beckon him, his eyes shining in the lamp-light, warm brown. She saw his hardness, standing up from black curls, stirring. She skinned out of her boots and trousers.Why be afraid? I carry the power of life and death, on my claws . She wiggled out of her tunic. She turned to him, held out her hand,left hand; he slid his fingers into hers, closing his eyes, making her guide him to touch. She drew him onto the bed. He was so large, even kneeling he loomed… The wrong thought crept in like a thief,ship-berth, him between me and the door, naZak-big, me child-small, him male-smelling … She stiffened, froze, hands up in front of her, trembling.Natural enough , the flat cold part of her thought.Good act, illusionist. Shit , another part thought. Ishould have clawed him . Chevenga spread his hands, away from her, leaving himself open, the motions all old-fashioned Yeoli, straight, formal. "Megan, I'd die before I hurt you." She took a deep, slow, controlled breath, stilling the pounding of her heart by will. Yes.You will. I don't need to fear you; I will kill you . "I…" she stammered. "I need to be on the same side the door is." He shifted back to let her change places with him. "Heused to like to give me just so much running room, and then catch me." She saw a line of muscle near his temple flex, as his jaw clenched. "Tell me how not to be like him," he said. "Forbid me to be like him. Tonight, here, I am yours." "Mine?" She let out a laugh, plausibly nervous. "Heused to say 'you are mine.' Whatever your power-stingy people say, Fourth Chevenga, you're a king; you can't know what that means." "Oh?" His brows rose, challenged. "You think Kurkas didn't say 'you are mine' to me? Do you think I was a king in the Mezem, killing some other wretch every eight-day so they wouldn't kill me, with the Mahid hauling me off every month to drug Yeola-e's secrets out of me?" He drew up, kneeling straight, formal Yeoli warrior-style; imposing, but not frightening, somehow, every line full of the bounds of discipline. His voice softened. "What I mean is: I will do and be what you will, for this one night. Nothing you have to take; I give it. All my life I have been my people's, doing their will, as I was born and bred to." His words checked then, his eyes searching hers. "Look, Megan, if it seems I'm urging you, if it's too fast, we can hold off till another night, or forget about it entirely. Whatever you choose." Almost irresistibly came the urge to put it off, to be out of this too-hot walled place, to be gone and forget.No . The pain of Arkan steel again, pinning her wrists, no different than if it were real.Lixand-mi. I might not get another chance. And she will have died in vain . She calmed, made herself claw-steel, to match steel. Easily. Soeasily. What innocence did I miss, am I missing, having learned to be so hard so young? As your life shaped you, Gold-bottom, so did mine shape me . "I'm tired of being afraid. It's been long enough. Kiss me?" She heard her own voice, even in the darkness, steady, alluring. His lips touched hers, softly, open. She reached with her tongue for his, holding his curly head in her clawed hands. A familiar awe, through everything else:I'm kissing Chevenga, the Invincible, the Immortal, the Gold-bottom … Bitter inward laughter.Kissing, killing. Duty and pleasure allied . Iam the Immortal's mortality .
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html He smiled—I lend you my strength, it said—and lay back on the bed. She slid down in his arms. What frightened her most, because it was what Sarngeld had most often forced from her, what she could do only very rarely for Shyll, she would do.Then in fear I'll jump and nick him. I might not even know when I'm doing it. All I need to do is stop being so careful. Man-fear swelled, stifling; she choked it down, fought not to gag. His scent was a vegetarian's, sweet on other parts of him, buthere… All men are the same . His only touch was three fingertips air-light on her shoulder. "Megan, are you sure?" He slid upwards, drawing away. "This is the hardest. Don't make it harder!" She clasped his hips and laid her cheek against his belly for a moment, clinging, eyes closed, some part of her like a baby taking comfort from his warmth. "Megan. You need what will make you feel safe. Here." He took her right hand up, laid it across his own throat, claws spread. Under her fingertips she felt his pulse-beat, quick and steady. "If I do what you don't want, if I becomehim somehow, give me just a clench, the first time, a warning. If I do the same thingagain — kill me." She tore her hand away, raised her head to stare. A moment of panic:Would I do that? Yes, I would. In shock . His eyes were serious.I trust you , they said.And myself . "It's only my own hands my fate would be in," he said. "I'd have none but myself to blame." What she should say came easily enough. "Kill you, and fight my way out through your army, leaving what's left of my family to the mercy of those who loved you?" She heard her voice, dry, cynical. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" He slid out from her arms, picked a sheet of paper and an Arkan pen out of the cupboard. Crouching in the circle of lamplight, he wrote three lines in his quick firm hand, Yeoli and Enchian, signed, sealed it with a daub of seal-wax and thesemanakraseye's signet, and handed it to her. I, Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e, semanakraseye na chakrachaseye,absolve Megan Whitlock of my own death this seventh night in the moon of the Corn. There was reason; she knows. The words, as she read them, four times, seemed to shift and swim; the dark air had currents, like water, that moved her, became hard to breathe, the cart-floor rippling.No. Shake it off, but without motion. You should feel just amazement . His eyes gazed at her, black reflecting two tiny dark flames, one gold tooth reflecting a brighter one. "They'd truth-drug you, you'd tell the truth, and they'd know it as the sort of thing I'd do. If they even caught you." He shrugged, naked shoulders lifting. "Who would say anything to Megan Whitlock strolling by night, with her adopted daughter?" Don't show him the world's spinning. She kept the impassive merchant's face, with a mask of lesser surprise.I know what I'd say now . "How can you trust me so? I was truth-drugged three months ago, you don't know I haven't been compromised since then, somehow."Subtle, witch . He lay back on the bedding, tucking his hands behind his head, shrugged again, smiling. "I know who to trust." You idiot. You fish-gutted over-reckless, Gold-bottomed idiot.
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people around for camouflage, and t
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Und now I vind dose two—Celestial
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wounded only in the carts on march,
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Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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