"I do not need to." He met her gaze again. "If you desire." A glint of triumph lit her gaze, and she added with arrogance, "But you can never command me." "You cannot rule, but any other position is yours," she breathed. "Perhaps," he purred, eyes falling to her plump lips. Her breathing quickened even further, uncertainty in her gaze. Satisfied, he leaned forward until their faces nearly touched.
#Warlords call to arms messender elf free#
She made no move to pull free despite his loose hold. Taran captured them and pinned them above her head. Rissa bridged the space between them, moving her hands to brace against his chest. Taran breathed deeply, allowing his senses to fill with the woman gazing up at him. The tension was thick, their heat filling the empty space between them. "What does every man want?" He kept his voice low, lethal, and stopped just short of their bodies touching. Her pupils dilated as he neared, her breath quickening. He backed her into the side of the hut, holding her gaze. Rissa held her ground until he neared enough to touch her. "What do you choose for fulfillment of my oath?" she demanded.Īnd Taran gave a predatory smile. Her breathing was unsteady, the scent of her honey musk and sweat thick in his nostrils. Her hands shook, though her gaze was steady. Rissa was beautiful, even with her eyes rimmed in red. Her movement drew his attention, and he caught and held her gaze, the fire within his blood stirring for a different reason. He drew a dagger and slashed their arms free.Īs if sensing the charge around him, she withdrew. He tugged her inside and ducked into one of the dimly lit single-room rooms, closing the door behind him. Taran led her down a street lined with small inns before spotting the one marked as Memon said. There was pleasure in the feel of his warmed blood. Twenty years, and the answer was bound to his forearm! It was beyond his imagination that she would grant him that which he wanted! He held the ruler of the greatest kingdom at his mercy! The thought should make him frenzied to plot Memon’s downfall. Anyone with sense would not venture out after dark following such an attack!
The woman was uncontrollable, and this thought infuriated him further. She made no sound, did not attempt to resist him, but she would. He all but dragged her through the quiet, stinking roads of Corcoran, seething, oblivious to the wooden huts lining the muddied street on each side of them. And yet, the wild look on her face made him want to believe her.
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