It would not be today, though. Today they would reach the dark river that tumbled down the nearby mountains. Tomorrow they would cross the fouled waters, and Kavik would continue leading her farther away from the demon tusker’s den. He had seen too many men killed by that evil, and he would not see Mala hurt by it, too.
Even if it meant his life, Kavik would never see her hurt.
She stirred against him, lashes fluttering and a soft smile on her lips. He remained still as she turned in his arms. After so many mornings, he didn’t need to tell her what he wanted; his body spoke for him. But as she skimmed lower, her mouth brushed his shoulder, then his chest, and she repeatedly touched her lips to his skin as she moved down his rigid stomach.
Each kiss was a sweet knife. He couldn’t bear it.
Roughly he gripped her hair. “Take my cock,” he commanded hoarsely. “Now.”
She did. So hot. So hard. She gave him what he wanted, needed. He controlled this. He was not tamed. She was.
And it mattered not that he thought he might die without her.
THE sun had finally come to Blackmoor, but the cursed land looked no happier for its warmth. Along the great river, blackwood trees lay twisted and dry. Bones strewed the rocky banks, animal and human, as if those who had drank directly from the waters had immediately fallen dead.
Though it was long before sunset, they stopped to camp within an arrow’s flight of the river. A stone bridge lay farther south, but it was gated, and Barin’s soldiers only allowed travelers to pass through while the sun was up. Kavik had told her it was better to sleep at least a half day’s ride away and cross at midday, because bandits were never as much trouble under cover of darkness as the bored soldiers at the bridge garrison were.
Although Mala might have enjoyed a fight, she would enjoy an undisturbed night with Kavik more—and a bath. Her last had been at the Croaking Frog, and for a quarter turn she’d made do with wiping herself down with a damp rag. So as he built the fire, she retrieved a small packet of soap and a cloth from her packs.
“See that the others stay away from the waters,” Mala said to Shim, who had taken to watching over the horses when they weren’t traveling. “I will let you know when it is safe.”
Small bones cracked between her bare feet and the rounded stones at the edge of the river. It was unfortunate that she and Kavik couldn’t cross at this spot instead of requiring a bridge. But the recent rains had swelled the waters, and although they flowed placidly near the banks, the current at the middle appeared deep and swift.
After unbraiding her hair, she shed her clothes and stood before the lapping waters, wearing only a knife strapped to her thigh. There was no ritual required for this. Only honesty. “Vela, most gracious of goddesses,” she prayed softly. “I am your servant, awed and humbled by your protection. I need it now, for these waters are fouled, and only your power can cleanse them. Take my body as your vessel and my faith as your due.”
Soap in hand, Mala stepped in. Braced for icy cold, she was pleased to find it merely cool. Bliss. She waded out to her waist, where the current was still only a constant, gentle push against her legs.
She didn’t feel Vela move through her; she never did. Some priestesses said they were filled with ice, others described it like fire. But however the goddess worked through Mala, it was quiet, like a breath.
Holding hers, she dunked her head.
Kavik’s shout met her ears when she came up. Bellowing her name, he raced toward her, his powerful stride tearing across the distance. Alarmed, she unsheathed her knife and scanned the water’s surface. Had some monster survived the poisonous waters?
Slowly, so as not to attract any creature’s attention, she started back toward the river’s edge.
Eyes feral, Kavik charged directly toward her across the rocks and splashed into the river. “Out of the water, Mala!” Desperation hoarsened his voice as he reached for her. “Out!”
Heart thundering, she searched the water again. “What is—”
Kavik’s fingers snagged her wrist. Dragging her against him, he hooked his arm beneath her legs and forged toward the shoreline. At the rocks, he dropped to his knees beside her clothes and began scrubbing her wet skin with her cloak. Lips white, his face was a mask of anguish. “Did you drink any?”
Understanding swept over her. The fouled water. He must have been certain she would be poisoned. That she would be dead within a few breaths.
Yet he’d charged into the same water after her.
Mala cupped his face in her hands, forced him to look at her, and could barely stand the devastation in his eyes. “I told you that Vela would protect me,” she said softly. “That she would cleanse any water I need.”
“A wineskin,” he said harshly. “She cannot cleanse a fouled river.”
“She can, warrior. She did. It will be safe from the headwaters to the end.” She stroked her fingers along his bristled jaw. “Now come and bathe with me.”
Chest heaving, he shook his head. With a sigh, she rose from his arms. She hadn’t taken a step before he caught her hand, frowning up at her.
“You are not going back in?”
“Of course I am. I haven’t properly washed, and the water holds no danger now.”
Anger hardened his face. “You could not have known that when you first stepped in. It was a fool’s risk.”
“That is faith, warrior. It wouldn’t be very strong if I required proof before I believed in her power. But Vela does want us to believe in her, because she must work through us—and we would have no reason to allow it if she didn’t keep her promises. She only asks that I keep mine.” Still holding his hand, she took another step toward the water. “Perhaps you don’t trust the goddess. Trust me instead.”
Tension coiled in her chest as she waited, then constricted painfully when he let go of her fingers. Blindly she turned to the water. So he didn’t trust her. It mattered not. One day he would, because she was patient and stubborn, and never would she give him any reason to believe she might betray him. She would keep her promises, too.
But her eyes still stung, so she bathed her face in the cool water, then went under completely so that the ache in her heart could be blamed on her lungs.
Kavik was wading naked into the river when she emerged, his fierce gaze fixed on her face. “Either you are right,” he said roughly, “or I will die with you.”
Reaching for her, his fingers delved into her wet hair. But no command followed this time. No down. No now.
Instead his mouth descended upon hers. A kiss. Like sweet fire, he singed her lips with a possessive taste that slowly gentled as he lingered over her mouth, returning to it again and again. Mala clung to him, loving his strength, loving this tenderness.
When he finally lifted his head, she told him, “We will not die,” and her voice was thick. “But if we do, our corpses will smell better than they would have before we bathed.”
His grin loosened every painful ache inside her. Easily he lifted her against him, wrapping her legs around his waist before moving deeper into the water. “We must not smell as bad as revenant yet. You have tasted me many times these past days.”
“Much better than revenant.” Mala lay her head on his shoulder and held him close. “But I would have you anyway, warrior.”
MALA washed his hair, and Kavik thought there could be no greater pleasure until he took the soap and lathered every stretch of her beautiful skin. Touching her was the greater pleasure. Kissing her was. He followed each spot that she rinsed with a tender press of his lips.