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  As the jungle parted and they came to Marc Gampia’s encampment, Rayder couldn’t help noticing the huge difference between this encampment and Drakus’. A large stone structure, an almost exact replica of Felican Castle only considerably smaller, stood several miles from a break in the jungle where desert sands stood stark cream and black and white. Along the area outside the moat and drawbridge was a full market of people selling wares. Even women operated some of the stands, selling fruit and other foodstuffs travelers would require if venturing into the stark and hazardous desert beyond.

  Beyond Marc’s compound another huge building held something else most people didn’t know about. The large building behind his complex probably housed a tame dragon. A dragon Marc could use as a weapon if need-be. Whereas Daryk Ones could fight and kill hostile dragons, Marc had a way with the creatures no other man on Dragonia seemed to have.

  Except maybe Daryk One Eryk Gauth, who had been known to tame a dragon here or there. Eryk had learned it from his father, but Marc was the only non-Daryk One any could recall having this same skill. It was a mystery few understood.

  Felican Castle and its lord Bellrus Famila tolerated Marc, but only because he’d proven less problematic than people like Drakus. Unlike Grimnald Castle’s lord Armen Helnak, Bellrus was politically aware that many people in this area at jungle’s edge didn’t want direction or rule. They were wilder than most, less harsh with judgment. Bellrus was the least autocratic ruler Rayder knew, and also less likely to join the burgeoning call for war against Drakus and his slave trader rogues. When Rayder had ventured to Grimnald Castle after being almost killed at Drakus’ camp, Rayder had noted how edgy everyone seemed. Of course his old and former friend Dane might take up arms against rogue Daryk Ones soon, and so would Eryk Gauth, another Daryk One Rayder had been friends with before Rayder decided to infiltrate the rogue faction. Rayder often wondered if that was why he found this region more home than anywhere. Here he could be everything he was, both good and bad, and no one gave a shite.

  As the slavers with Rayder stood watching activity outside the three-story abode, Rayder thought of Xandra alone at the ship. Visions of the torrid sex he’d had with her earlier in the day haunted him. He wanted to be with her now, thrusting inside her wet cunny until his life force planted within her and bore fruit.

  His gut clenched as he instantly remembered it couldn’t happen. He still had the smell of sex in his nose, taunting him, making his lust burn higher and hotter. All the tales he’d heard about mating hadn’t included the driving desire to fuck until the female was with child. No one had told him that. Perhaps they assumed it should be a foregone conclusion. Part of him rebelled that any person should have such a hold on him. That any woman should twist him into knots the way she had. Yes, a small part of him was angry that Xandra had changed him.

  A low rumble came from around the side of the building, the unmistakable guttural and threatening sound of a dragon on the prowl. Rayder’s lustful thoughts disappeared as the creature stomped around the side of the complex.

  Although it was small as far as dragons went, the creature had a uniqueness that made it positively beautiful in comparison to most. Delicate wings unfolded, fanning outward in a combination of blue, purple, pink and green dazzling to the eye. The body was solid black, the eyes a jewel green. The dragon’s long muzzle and sharp horned crests at the top of the head looked fierce.

  “Sir, do we move forward?” Conto asked, raising his sword slightly.

  The other men stepped back, and Rayder liked the fact they were afraid. Good. He’d let them think the creature was far more dangerous than it was.

  “We move forward,” Rayder said. “But cautiously. Arcos is Marc Gampia’s pet and patrols this encampment as its guard.”

  Conto’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure, Sir? The beast is eyeballing us like he’s considering us for his next meal.”

  “Arcos is very tolerant as long as we show no aggression. The beast seems to read minds. If it thinks you are a threat, it will eat you in a second.” Rayder layered on that last bit of bollocks, but it wouldn’t hurt if these men believed it.

  They proceeded with none of the caution one employed approaching Drakus’ camp. Marc’s men wouldn’t harm Rayder or anyone with him—most of them saw Rayder as a fellow rebel, a man going against the rules of conduct placed on a Daryk One. At the mouth of Marc’s abode, he saw a figure who looked familiar. A man he hadn’t seen in many months but would recognize anywhere. Marc’s long blond hair fell almost to his waist, but was tied back today in a neat queue. Marc didn’t have a special guard surrounding him, and Rayder knew the ruler didn’t need one. People respected him too much. It was doubtful anyone would attempt to harm or kill him. Rayder headed that way, eager to speak with the man.

  Oscan and Farcam muttered to themselves, but Rayder could easily hear them.

  “There’s that Marc fella.” Oscan’s voice was gravely and filled with disapproval.

  Farcam laughed. “Bugger me. Would you look at his fancy clothes?”

  Fancy clothes? Rayder almost said something to Farcam but realized it wasn’t worth disagreeing. Marc’s bright red tunic and black pants looked more pristine than the workers hawking wares or otherwise engaged in labor, but Rayder wouldn’t have considered Marc’s clothing more than extraordinarily bright.

  Conto grunted. “Looks damn right ordinary to me.”

  Conto threw a grin at Rayder, and Rayder returned it. Conto wasn’t always the sharpest knife in the drawer, but of the three slavers, he was the most trustworthy and useful.

  Marc had a way with women—most found him so sexually attractive they couldn’t resist any request he made. He stood as tall as Rayder and was built with strength and purpose. He was young for a ruler. His father had died several years ago and left Marc leader at age twenty. At only thirty, Marc had the experience many older rulers accumulated over a longer time.

  Two minstrels near the drawbridge started to play, one with a Bodgian drum and the other a Stigian hornpipe. Marc saw Rayder’s entourage coming and headed their way. His face lit up with a smile.

  Rayder waved at the ruler. Arcos took up position at the side of the building and watched.

  Marc waved back, and any tension Rayder held within his gut eased. Marc would never smile and wave if he planned to order an execution rather than a greeting. Not that Rayder expected anything less than a fairly enthusiastic greeting. He’d always gotten on well with Marc.

  Marc’s smile broadened as they all met in the middle of the drawbridge. “Rayder Tyrus, you old bastard! What brings you here?”

  Marc put his hand out, and Rayder met the greeting with a firm handshake. “What usually brings me here?”

  “Wenching? Supplies? Selling women?” Marc’s sharp blue eyes missed nothing.

  Rayder laughed. “You know me well. But there’s serious games afoot and I need to speak with you.”

  Rayder didn’t bow or scrape to the ruler—Marc saw that as more disingenuous than outright mouthiness.

  Marc nodded. “Very well. And these are your men?”

  Rayder introduced them then said, “They’re here to gather supplies.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead, the large thunderheads closing in.

  “Then let them gather supplies before the storms come,” Marc said, gesturing to the sky. “After they’ve finished, they may wench as long as they wish. There are some fresh wenches in the tavern.”

  “We don’t have long.” Rayder didn’t like the idea of letting the men run amok.

  Marc grinned again and eyeballed the three other men. “I see. Then they may gather supplies and eat at the tavern. No wenching.”

  Oscan’s hairy eyebrows went up in annoyance. “The admiral said we could fuck all we wanted when we got here.”

  “Yeah,” Farcam said with a surly tone.

  Instead of taking offense at Oscan and Farcam’s belligerent tones, Marc’s eyes sparked with amusement.

  “Then when
you’re at the tavern, tell the barkeep that I sent you to see Bavarda and Cantertina. They’re two of our finest ladies. They’ll service you quickly but well.”

  Oscan and Farcam had the good sense to look at Rayder and wait for directions. “Get the fuck out of here then.” Conto stood at Rayder’s right side, silently observing. Rayder turned to him. “What are you waiting for?”

  “If I’m not too forward, Sir, I think maybe Bavarda and Cantertina aren’t the kind of women I want to service me.”

  “Why?” Rayder asked.

  Marc chuckled. “Perhaps he’s met them before.”

  Conto smiled. “I’ll find someone else.”

  And he strode off.

  Rayder frowned then turned his attention to Marc. “Why do I have a feeling there’s something I don’t know about these women?”

  Marc clapped his hand onto Rayder’s shoulder, then gestured that they proceed into the structure. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  * * * * *

  Xandra lay on the bed later in the day, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing in particular. The bed was empty beside her. Of course. Rayder had slipped out while she still lay almost completely senseless from pleasure and a need for sleep. She sighed and closed her eyes. She’d made a complete hash of things when she’d tried to seduce Rayder. By the god, she hadn’t realized, hadn’t imagined that his own seductive force would overwhelm any resistance she possessed. He’d overwhelmed her with heat and desire with one look. Rayder was clever, handsome, devastating in sexual prowess. How did a woman ignore that in one man?

  All her life she’d prided herself on her independence, the parts of her that refused to be tethered to a man despite what her culture said she should do. Now that Rayder had stamped his mark upon her, she couldn’t resist him any more than she could prevent him from leaving the ship without her.

  She analyzed her fears and knew that was the only way she could reach an answer.

  If he left her, she would be as defenseless as she was before. Only she wasn’t defenseless and never had been. She’d proven that to herself.

  If he left her, he might be hurt or killed and never come back. If any man could survive Dragonia, it was Rayder.

  If he left her, she might recognize more feelings for him.

  She sat up and ran one hand over her face. Who did she think she was fooling? Her feelings for him already ran amazingly deep for a man she’d known so few days. The realization grounded inside her, rubbing against a rawness that refused to disappear. She rubbed her stomach again, but instead of apprehension, she recognized hunger.

  Sighing, she snapped out of her reverie and reached for a bowl of fruit. She ate hungrily and within moments she’d consumed fruit, bread and water.

  A knock on the door startled her. Rayder had cautioned her against allowing anyone entrance.

  She crossed the room and leaned on the door. “Who is it?”

  “Yoanda.”

  Xandra smiled and opened the door. “Yoanda, come in.”

  Yoanda’s eyes brightened as she entered the cabin. She held a yellow metal tankard. “It’s good to see you, Xandra.”

  “And you. What brings you here?”

  “I promised I’d check on you, remember? Rayder wanted it.”

  Xandra recalled the conversation. “Is that the tea you mentioned?”

  Yoanda handed her the tankard. “My mother said it cured anything that ails the body. Especially after…” Her cheeks reddened. “Well, after a man has relations with you.”

  Xandra’s mouth quirked. The tankard was warm. “I’m fine, Yoanda.”

  “Certainly, but aren’t you a little…sore?”

  Such an intimate conversation made her uncomfortable. “No.”

  For a flicker, Yoanda’s eyes betrayed anger. No. The woman’s smile returned. “That is wonderful. Drink up now. It’s very good for you regardless.”

  The pleasant scent made her nose twitched. Her taste buds wanted the first large sip. The flavor burst on her tongue, more delicious than she’d expected.

  “Good?” Yoanda asked.

  “Very. Thank you.” Xandra moved toward the bed.

  Instantly she was tired and her feet heavy.

  Yoanda’s hand touched her shoulder. “Do not fight it. I’m sorry I had to do this. But I needed the money to escape. I can’t be with Aramus anymore.”

  “What?” Xandra’s confusion dissipated in a blink as her body suddenly felt lighter than air. Horrible recognition assaulted her. “What did you do?” The tankard fell from her suddenly weak hand, landed on the floor with a clank, and the contents splattered on the floor. “What was in that drink?”

  As Xandra’s vision started to blacken at the corners, she couldn’t even panic. It was too fast. Too overwhelming. All the questions running through her mind disappeared. Yoanda’s eyes had lost their normal sweetness. Only urgency and sadness lurked in those depths.

  “You’ll be all right,” Yoanda said.

  Xandra’s legs weakened and daylight went out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Tell me what you’re truly here for,” Marc said as the young, nubile woman put a tankard of drink in front of Rayder then preceded to do the same for Marc. She left without speaking.

  Marc always served his guests first. It was one thing Rayder liked about the man.

  “Negotiations.” Rayder laid it out after he’d taken one sip of liquor from the tankard. “I’m still with the Beast, and we wish to sell slaves.”

  “And you want to sell them to me?” Marc’s voice sounded deceptively mild, as if he didn’t quite believe what Rayder told him.

  “Yes. And no.”

  Marc sipped his drink. He could have sat at the head of the twenty-person table and insisted on Rayder sitting at the far end, but he hadn’t. “You assume I need more slaves.”

  “The people working for you here don’t seem much like slaves. If they are, they are the best treated of any I’ve seen. No slave is paid by his master. And I hear yours are paid well. Perhaps you need more servants.”

  Marc didn’t look pleased with Rayder’s assessment. He pushed a bowl of fruit toward Rayder. “Eat. You look skinny.”

  Rayder laughed, knowing this was Marc’s subtle way of insulting him. He grabbed up a piece of fruit and munched. “Don’t change the subject. You are less the brutal ruler than you want others to think. You’re nothing like Drakus. I don’t know why you do business with him.”

  Marc shrugged. “It is convenient. Nothing more.” Marc leaned his forearms on the table. “I do not think you came here today to insult me, as amusing as you find it. And if you meant to attack me, you wouldn’t have been so nice about it. You wouldn’t have brought those scum-sucking bags of bones into my home. You would have brought men capable of doing the deed.”

  “I’ll send them away if you like.”

  “Not necessary. Do you think I’m a fucking fool? You and I have known each other since we were children, even when you weren’t supposed to know me. You understand me as well as I understand you. Which is it? Do you want to sell me slaves or don’t you? Just get to the bloody point.”

  Rayder laughed and scrubbed one hand over his chin. “I have a big problem. One that I’ve been trying to solve for three years.”

  “Since you became a slaver.”

  “Yes.”

  Marc’s eyes clouded over and his mouth went tight. “After you banished guilt over your sister?”

  Rayder hadn’t expected the sharp tone, and he locked eyes with Marc long enough to recognize pure anger in the man’s voice. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re judging me, and I’m coming up damn short. For the record, Marc, I haven’t banished my guilt. But I have a plan to get revenge. Redemption.”

  Marc stared at him for a few moments, his eyes hard. “Revenge against me?”

  Surprised, Rayder didn’t keep the amazement out of his voice. “No. Unless you were responsible for her death?” Rayder’s skin tingled, his body braced f
or something. For action. “Do you know something about the way she died?”

  Marc’s gaze snapped to him and his eyes flashed. “By the god, you know I wouldn’t have harmed one hair on her head. I—” The ruler looked around the room, his eyes serious and contemplative. “You know, she was only in this room a few times.” Marc gazed around the room again, a faraway look entering his eyes as if he remembered something ancient and dear. “Aknada’s voice still rings in my ears. I can still hear her reciting her poetry. I can still see exactly how she looked. Did you know she was a lovely dancer?”

  Rayder’s instincts had never turned him wrong, and he knew why Marc sounded strained and angry. He’d tried to deny the ruler’s feelings for his sister for years, tried to pretend they didn’t exist. “She could dance very well, and she was a wonderful poet.”

  “I still have a book of her poetry near my bed.” Marc’s voice held nuances both intimate and regretful.

  Such a mention seemed wholly out of character for Marc. A building suspicion became full-fledged anger. “Are you trying to tell me that you and my sister—”

  “No. And before you say that you’ll cut my balls off with your sword, your sister and I never reached that point. At least not to the extent you’re imaging.”

  “I don’t want to imagine it.” Rayder considered leaning over the table and throttling the man.

  “If she’d wanted it, I would have given her everything she wanted. A home. Safe haven. Instead, she fell in love with Braxis Lorando.”

  Rayder reined in and took another drink of the powerful liquor. “She once said he was her very best friend.”

  Marc shook his head. “Her friend was an acceptable replacement for an unacceptable man.” Marc snorted. “Whatever she felt for me, it wasn’t a woman’s foolish idea of love.” Revelation held there, stark and bright. Marc blinked. His mouth opened then closed. “Perhaps I should have quenched my need for revenge long ago and had you killed for letting her die.”