THE SHADOWLORD Read online

  "No!" Aradia shouted, trying to pull him off the woman. His forearms felt like steel. Sofia's face turned a deeply infused red. "Jaelan, don't!"

  With spittle running down his cheek, Jaelan knew a moment of fury unlike anything he had ever experienced. That she would dare spit on him was bad enough, but that she had done so in the presence of his wife unleashed the pitiless fiend lurking inside him. He was intent on squeezing the life from Sofia Kahteranani, a woman he had feared and hated his entire life.

  "Please, don't do this!" Aradia begged, dragging on his arm. "She's not worth it! Don't let her win!"

  Aradia's words fell like iced water over the fire pit that bubbled and steamed within Jaelan's hate-fed mind. The words doused the flames of fury, stilled the churning lava, dissipated the toxic vapors. Her hand on his arm, her touch, drew away the ferocious heat that encased him. He dropped his hands from the woman's neck, staggering away from her.

  Sofia coughed and gagged, bending over in agony, sucking ragged gulps of air into her depleted lungs. "B...bastard," she croaked, rubbing her throat.

  "Get out before I strangle you myself!" Aradia said, dragging Sofia to the door.

  "Evil," Sofia whispered. "Evil as the day is long!"

  "You haven't seen evil yet." Aradia jerked open the door and shoved the woman into the hall. "Stay away from him!"

  Sofia straightened, and her wrinkled lips peeled back from yellowed, crooked teeth. She hissed like a cornered viper before turning and stumbling down the corridor.

  Aradia slammed the door as hard as she could. Her breath coming fast and shallow, she turned to her husband. She found him leaning against the wall, eyes closed, his head thrown back, a vein throbbing dangerously in the exposed column of his throat.

  "Let it go, warrior," she said.

  Jaelan opened his eyes and lowered his head. His face was stone-cold hard, his gaze filled with an emotion Aradia could not read. When she started toward him, he put up a hand to stay her. Silently, he shook his head and pushed away from the wall. Before she could stop him, he opened the door and thundered out, his heavy footsteps echoing back to her.

  Remembering her nakedness, Aradia reached for a towel. After dragging the soft cotton around her, she tucked the end between her breasts and shut the door. A crack of lightning spooked her. She jumped, stumbling into the bedside table to rattle a pitcher of water.

  "I hate bad weather," she said aloud. "I hate all this rain!"

  As though the weather gods had heard her, rain lashed the windows with such force, Aradia thought the glass would break. She started to latch the inside shutters over the window when something caught her eye. After wiping fog from the glass, she saw Jaelan standing in the center of the courtyard, the deluge buffeting him.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered. Even as the words left her, lightning flared viciously, illuminating her husband in a harsh white glare. Terrified he would be hit, she rapped on the window, trying to gain his attention. He seemed not to notice. She rapped again, rapidly and with more force, but either he couldn't hear her or simply chose to ignore the summons. The latter proved true, she realized, when he turned his head, looked at her, then walked toward a tall banyan tree at the far corner of the courtyard.

  "For the love of Alluvia!" she said exasperated.

  He sat beneath the tree, drew up his legs and encircled them with his arms, before lowering his head to his knees. Aradia again cleared the fog from the window. A savage curse issued from her mouth as she turned to dress.

  A few minutes later, Aradia entered the common room and saw Jahna Kahteranani watching the Shadowlord. When she headed for the door, his soft voice stopped her.

  "He will not appreciate you intruding, Milady."

  "You expect me to leave him out in that tempest?"

  He shrugged. "He is where he wants to be, Milady. This is not uncommon for him."

  "It's dangerous!"

  "Aye, and he knows it. Perhaps the danger he courts makes him feel more alive." He shrugged again. "Who knows with those of his kind?"

  "His kind," Aradia repeated, the words bitter. "What exactly is his kind, Grandfather?"

  "He is not like you or I, Milady. We knew him to be different from the moment he came to our little village. Samiel ruefully regrets the day he brought him here. Often are the times Samiel will sit at the fire pit, deep in his cups, and ask the Prophet for forgiveness for having done so."

  "Jaelan's father is alive? Does he live nearby?"

  "In that house," Jahna said, pointing to a buff-colored building to the East of the banyan tree.

  Glancing at the house, Aradia saw a shadow at the window. "Is that Samiel?"

  "More than likely."

  "And he wouldn't think to call his son in out of the rain?"

  "The Shadowlord is not his son. He is merely the man who raised him."

  "What a childhood he must have had with you people."

  Jahna's lined face bore no expression, but his rheumy eyes grew stern. "Do not condemn the people of Uadjit for hating him. They have had good reason since he came of age."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He was ten and three winters, he was," Jahna muttered. "Thirteen's always been an unlucky number, and for us, it was an omen straight from hell!"

  "What exactly did a thirteen-year-old do to the people of Uadjit for them to feel as they do, Grandfather?"

  "He brought the wrath of the Domination down upon this village. A fourth of our men-folk were taken and cast into the dungeons at Abbadon. I have not seen three of my sons since that day, and never expect to see them this side of Paradise! A fourth of our young women were sent to the convent. One of those was my firstborn granddaughter. We were told she died in childbirth, struggling to bear the offspring of a Viragonian soldier who'd raped her!"

  "I'm sorry for what happened, but how could he have been responsible--"

  "Had it not been for Jaelan, Uadjit would have never garnered the notice of the Brotherhood."

  "I don't see what--"

  "Ask him why death rides at his side and he'll tell you!" The man uncrossed his arms and stalked off, his stooped shoulders leading the way. He did not look back at his guest, leaving her to stand at the window and watch the violent summer storm drench her husband.

  Aradia tore her gaze from Jaelan and looked at the house where he had grown up. Though she couldn't make out the figure at the window, she had the feeling Samiel Ben-Ashaman had turned his attention to her. She felt a hatred directed her way and lifted her chin. A stranger's view of her carried no more weight than a single drop of the rain pounding the inn. Switching her attention to Jaelan, she wondered if she should go to him.

  At that moment, Jaelan looked straight at her. He shook his head. She understood his silent command to be left alone, and obeyed, going back to her room.

  * * * *

  Jaelan caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He swiveled his gaze to the back door of his adopted father's house. There, framed in the doorway, stood the man, huddled in the warmth of an ancient wool shawl.

  "What is her name?" Samiel called.

  "Aradia," Jaelan answered.

  "Oceanian?"

  "Amazeen."

  Samiel's low whistle gave evidence of his surprise. With a shrug, he moved back into the house and shut the door.

  Dragging in a long, tired breath, Jaelan closed his eyes and let the rain wash over him. He shivered occasionally, but the feel of the water, the cleansing of it, was something he sorely needed. As much as he longed to be in the warm confines of the inn, in the presence of his new wife, he remained on the ground, the storm winds buffeting him.

  * * * *

  Aradia heard the door open. She opened her eyes and, in the darkness, stared at the opposite wall. Although the storm still raged, her husband had finally returned to her. She smelled the damp clothing and listened as he stripped, being careful to lay aside the items so as to make as little noise as possible. He was being considerate, protective of her s
lumber, she thought, but at the same time, not wanting her to intrude on his mood. When the bed dipped, Aradia knew a moment of tension. It had been years since she'd shared a bed with a man and all that it implied.

  "Go back to sleep, wench," he whispered, pulling the covers over himself.

  "Are you all right?"

  He turned to his side. "Aye...go to sleep."

  Her thoughts jumped to the villagers, her worry of them harming Jaelan. She started to get up to secure the door latch, but he stopped her.

  "They're locked safely in their own worlds, wench. They'll not dare to intrude into mine."

  "Are you sure?"

  "As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow."

  "But what if--"

  "Go to sleep, Aradia," he said firmly, flouncing the covers. "We are in no danger here."

  She waited until he grew still again. "If you want to talk, I'll be happy to listen."

  He remained silent for so long, she first thought he purposely ignored her. But at last he sighed. "Tomorrow...tomorrow, we'll talk..."

  A part of her wanted to slip her arms around him. For the first time in many years, she felt a mothering instinct, but forced herself not to act on it. Something told her he would not appreciate her coddling him, so she remained still. After a while, she closed her eyes and slept, though threatening images that chased her from one place to another across the desert filled her dreams.

  * * * *

  In his dream, Jaelan meandered through a garden laden with summer flowers, the early morning sun sparkling on the knee-high stalks. Fleecy white clouds peppered the heavens, and the soft scent of gardenia mixed with the musky odor of fertile soil. Overhead, sparrows soared on the thermals, while crickets rubbed their hind legs together in search of a mate.

  Aradia strolled ahead of him, her gown of gossamer silk billowing in the breeze. In her hand she twirled a scarlet rose, which she occasionally brought to her face to inhale its sweet perfume. Often, she looked over her shoulder, making sure he followed, and her smile of promise turned his manhood to stone. In the distance, the rumble of waves against an unseen shore beckoned. They moved toward this sound as the aroma of the sea washed over them on the gentle wind.

  "There is a grotto," she said. "It's beyond the sea gate."

  A wrought iron gate barred their path. Beside it, a rose bush filled with hundreds of buds sent up an intoxicating smell. Aradia pluck a rose as Jaelan pushed open the tall gate.

  Steep stairs led down to a secluded beach, and they walked hand in hand, her leading him. Gulls joined the sparrows in sailing across the firmament. Their raucous cries seemed merry as they swooped low over incoming waves.

  The dream shifted, and he and Aradia were sitting beside an underground lake, staring in amazement at the stalactites and stalagmites that rimmed the milky-green water. The movement of waves lapping at the lake's edge calmed and soothed the nerves.

  She brought his hand to her breast, pressing his palm to her flesh, suddenly bare of fabric and restraint. "Feel my heart beating for you, warrior," she said and circled her nipple with his fingertips.

  His clothes magically disappeared, and he was stretched out atop her, his lower body nestled in the spread V of her silken thighs. Moving his hands at will over her creamy flesh, he felt the powerful stirrings of passion grip him.

  "Make me yours, beloved." She brought up her legs to capture his hips and anchor him to her.

  The tip of his fleshy sword entered the sheath of her heat. He sighed, giving in to the undeniable urge to claim her as his. He thrust slowly into her warmth, driving to the hilt of his weapon. Her moan of pleasure swelled his heart with pride.

  He rode her like a man possessed, taking her hard and deep, and branding her flesh for all time. His seed shot into her waiting core, and his name on her lips as release found her brought an answering howl from his straining throat.

  Satiated, truly fulfilled for the first time in his life, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, settling her body full-length against his. He held her in his arms and darkness came to the grotto.

  When he awoke, he was shocked to feel the stickiness of his night emission clinging wetly to his thigh and puddling beneath his rump. The ripe stench of spent semen made him frown. He threw back the covers and left the bed. Going into the bathing chamber, he relieved himself, then washed the telltale wetness from his flesh. Upon returning to bed, he stretched out under the covers as gently as possible to keep from waking his new bride.

  He could not remember ever having what the soldiers vulgarly called a Wet Mare. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or ashamed that he could not control himself. Rarely did he feel the need to take matters into his own hands to relieve the physical urges that sometimes plagued him. Saahira's none-too gentle ministrations when she visited his quarters did nothing more than eliminate his pent-up fluids, and he had never taken pleasure in her grudging hands.

  Turning his head, he stared at his sleeping bride and wondered what it would be like to hold her as he had in the dream. He longed to know the feel of her naked flesh, ached to enter her and experience the pleasure of her. Watching her sleep, he saw the vulnerable side of her, the defenselessness of her position, and felt so protective, so grateful she was his, he spent the next few hours studying every square inch of her face. When sleep finally claimed him, there was not a mole or a freckle, a tiny blemish or vein he did not know by heart.

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  Aradia rose well before dawn, quietly leaving her marriage bed and the man whose light snores made her smile. She padded barefoot to the inn's kitchen and, to her surprise, found no one there. In most establishments, the proprietor and his workers would be laboring away, preparing a meal for their guests. Such was not the case here, and Aradia felt she knew the reason--she and her husband were not welcome.

  Gritting her teeth to the insult, she searched for coffee. When she found it, she began to brew a pot, her anger lending speed and complete dedication to the task. Rummaging about the bins, she discovered bread and cheese, then added fig preserves, a couple of oranges, and a few pomegranates to her hoard. When the coffee finished perking, she placed everything on a tray and returned to her room. Just as she neared the door, it swung inward. Jaelan stood there shirtless, barefoot, with his leather breeches unbuttoned at the waist.

  "It's still raining," she said as she passed him, "although lightly."

  "You'll get used to it," he said, swiping an orange from the tray.

  "No one else is up."

  "Oh, they're up. They have been for hours."

  She placed the tray on the table by the bed. "Then where are they?"

  "Most likely with Samiel." He peeled the orange, sat on the bed, and crooked one knee on the mattress. "If you noticed, you were the only one who ate last eve."

  Aradia's eyes narrowed. "They did not feed you?"

  "They never do. I don't come here often, but when I do, they make sure not a crumb passes from their hands to my belly. If I want it, I fix it myself or I go hungry."

  Hands on her hips, muscle working in her jaw, she turned to him. "Are you hungry now?"

  Jaelan held up the orange. "Starving," he replied, then plopped a section of fruit into his mouth.

  "Then by the goddess, you'll be fed!" She stalked out the door.

  Chewing another orange section, Jaelan melded his mind with hers and read her angry thoughts. He tracked her through the inn to the kitchen and winced at the uncharitable feelings running rampant in her mind. She made a racket, throwing around pots and pans, and generally destroyed Jahna's kitchen as she set about preparing a meal she thought would satisfy his hunger. His stomach growled at the thought of being fed, and he leaned back on his elbow, slipping the last of the orange into his mouth. Crossing his bare ankles, he contented himself to wait for the meal he knew would be the best he'd ever had.

  Provided Aradia knew how to cook!

  * * * *

  Samiel let the curtain close. "She
's in your kitchen."

  "I figured as much," Jahna grumbled.

  "I'll not clean up after her," Sofia said. "And neither will Naseema!"

  Jahna rolled his eyes. "It is not the lady who is our enemy."

  "It is not her I mind feeding!" Sofia's hands curled into fists. "Though she threatened me."

  "If he were your husband, you'd have done the same," Samiel remarked.

  Sofia threw him a look of disgust and went back to her knitting. Naseema was sitting beside her mother-in-law on the settee.

  "She is nice for an Amazeen," Jahna commented. "I would not like to make an enemy of her if I could help it."

  "She should be pitied," Sofia decreed. "I can not imagine any woman surviving being Joined to that son of a jackal."

  "I warned her not to Join with him," Zaitan, the Magistrate, put in. "He has no doubt put a spell on her, for she would not listen to reason."

  "The boy has no such powers," Samiel said.

  "Who really knows what evil that boy is capable of?" Sofia demanded.

  Naseema moved to the window. She pushed aside the curtain and looked across the courtyard, seeking out the young woman who had married the village's hated son. Upon observing smoke wafting through the chimney, she turned to those assembled and made the sign for fire.

  Jahna hitched his shoulders. "Let us hope she knows what she's about, else she may burn the place down around their ears."

  "He should be burned," Sofia said. "I would give much to see him chained to the stake and the faggots lit beneath him."

  Samiel frowned. He hated Sofia's savage words, but he could say nothing to his dead wife's sister that would make her see reason. She had always viewed Jaelan as an interloper; an unwanted blight on the family, and her hatred of him had only grown in leaps and bounds through the years. And the death of her only son at Jaelan's hands had driven her to the brink of madness.

  "Be careful what you say, woman," Zaitan cautioned. "He hears every word we think."