CHAPTER EIGHT

ARIBIA

AZAR

Azar bent to pick up another stick from the forest floor. It was near sunset, and she needed to get home to start the fire before Papa arrived. She loved the house she shared with her father. Not large, but solid, and with a thatched roof that birds liked to build nests in.
She couldn’t help wandering through the forest, always fascinated by the birds. Especially the ravens. Sometimes they accepted her gifts and brought her shiny things in return. Sometimes they just took what they wanted, making her smile when they preened in triumph at their cleverness.
You must not speak with the birds, Papa always told her.
Why not? They see so many things when they fly.
They stole your mother from me. I’m afraid they will steal you, too.
But Papa was always confused about what happened. Mother had died. Everyone saw her struck down by warriors as she fought to protect Azar during a raid on the village. After the attack, Papa found Azar unconscious under a heap of blankets in a tall basket, a single charred feather clutched in her little fingers. Mother’s body was gone. Only blood-soaked earth and scorch marks left among burned buildings.
Azar had only been six, but she knew no one could have survived so much blood loss. She could still see the huge red pool when she walked down the main road through the village, even though it had been cleaned away years ago.
It wasn’t the birds who stole Mother from Father. It was their daughter.
Her hand rose to touch the feather she wore on a cord around her neck. Father had raved for hours the only time he’d caught sight of it, so she kept it a secret. After the attack, Azar hadn’t been able to open her fist and let it go. Touching the feather offered a source of comfort that helped fill the void of grief. At first, it had a rough texture, and blackened bits had flaked off, terrifying her that something so delicate would crumble to ash. By rights, it should have. A little feather shouldn’t have been able to survive something Mother hadn’t.
But when the lure of the feather was too strong and drew her small fingers to touch it again, the part that had flaked off felt a little smoother, and even warmer than the rest. Unwilling to upset Father again, Azar snuck into the forest to spend hours carefully stroking the spine and each barb, nurturing the feather like a flower. It had become supple and warmed the skin over her heart, where it touched her.
And as she cared for the feather, the birds talked to her.
Sometimes, when the birds spoke, they sounded like Mother, so Azar listened to them every chance she could. Ravens were clever and could speak human words in addition to their own language, but even knowing that, her guilt eased to think Mother was a raven instead of dead because Azar hadn’t run fast enough.
Guilt that had prevented her from marrying yet. How could she leave her father alone, when it was her fault Mother was gone? He couldn’t manage the house and farm by himself.
But Dorlan wouldn’t wait forever. He wanted to start a family, and he’d already asked her to marry him three times. There might not be a fourth chance.
An owl hooted. An owl? She glanced at the sky. It was dark. Papa would be home! She had to hurry.
Azar tucked the feather away, making sure it was completely covered. Over years the color had changed. Black gave way to shades of red, orange, yellow, and gold. Faint in the beginning, gradually the colors had grown more brilliant, until Azar thought Father would see it glowing even through her shirt.
She’d only taken two steps when a man leaped down from a tree. He was beside her so quickly she hardly saw him before he was touching her arm. He was huge, broad-shouldered, and much taller than her. Raven black hair spilled over his shoulders and eyes so black they made her feel like she was falling into them. With his black clothes, boots, and cloak, he seemed to be made of night.
He must be a spirit. Maybe a Djinn!
Papa and Dorlan said all men were dangerous, and they would try to hurt her. Surely they couldn’t mean every single one, but this man did feel dangerous. Her heart beat fast as a hummingbird’s.
She dropped her firewood, screamed, and backed up, then turned to run.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him.
“My… My papa will be looking for me.” She tried to tug free. “Let me go.”
The dark man didn’t listen, pulling her so close her breasts pressed against him. Her nipples hardened and heat coiled between her thighs. What was happening to her?
“What is your name?” he murmured.
“Azar.” She snapped her mouth shut. Giving her name to a Djinn could be a fatal mistake.
“Azar.” Her name sounded like magic when he said it. “My name is Fechin.” He glanced around. “What are you doing out here alone?”
She swallowed. “Talking to the ravens.” Why had she told him that? He’d think she was crazy. Like everyone else.
He smiled. It transformed him from intimidating to almost boyish. “You like ravens?”
Azar nodded.
“I am also fond of ravens.” He cupped her face between his large hands and stared into her eyes for an endless moment.
Captivated, she couldn’t look away.
“Azar.” Fechin rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks, a soft caress that left her trembling.
He leaned close. Too close! He couldn’t mean to — His lips touched hers in a soft kiss. A jolt like lightning went through her and she froze, torn between responding to him and pushing him away. With a gentle insistence, he urged her to open.
Closing her eyes, she gave in. Some irresistible pull drew her to this dark stranger. The rolling strokes of his tongue along hers spread heat through her. With each breath, the pressure of his lips firmed. Energy built within her. Dorlan never made her feel like this. The thought snapped sense into her, and she squirmed in Fechin’s embrace.
Fechin’s chest vibrated with a low growl, primal and raw, that stilled her. His hands left her face and stroked her back, then lifted her off the ground as he kissed her harder. Deeper.
Her hands landed on his shoulders. Azar arched into him as his unmistakable erection pressed against her stomach. This was dangerous. She should be scared, but lust hit her so quickly her body went limp. What was this control he had over her? She wanted his kisses. She wanted more. Azar slid her hands into his hair.
Fechin made a rough sound, half growl, half something else as he pulled back. Breaking the kiss. He squeezed the flesh of her bottom, then his rough palm slid up her leg.
“Touch me, Azar.” His deep voice rumbled from his chest.
The sound whipped through her, leaving her weakened. She rested her head against his shoulder, letting him support her. He cupped the weight of her breast, massaging the achy flesh while he kissed his way down the column of her throat. At the juncture of her shoulder and neck he nibbled, sending trembles of desire down her spine.
A tiny pinch of pain shocked her, but she liked it. He latched his mouth over the spot and bit until the pleasure bordered on pain. Cool air hit the sensitive tips of her breasts. What happened to her dress?
Azar shivered, but the warmth of Fechin’s touch seeped into her. He massaged her breasts, and the kneading left her squirming in his arms. The sensations of his touches made her heart flip-flop.
He flicked her nipples. Sparks ignited. He did it again. Pure pleasure skipped across her skin. She waited, eager for what he would do next. With his fingertip, he circled her areola. She moaned. He stilled with his fingers around one hard bud. Anticipation built. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from begging.
“You’re holding your breath, waiting.” His warm breath ghosted over her neck. “Do you want something, my Azar?”
Words wouldn’t come. She nodded.
“What?” He wanted her to talk? Couldn’t he guess?
“Well?”
The demand was clear. He kissed her throat, licked the spot he’d teased a moment ago, but didn’t move his fingers. She arched into his embrace, silently begging him to tug on her aching nipple. Roll it. Pinch it. Do something. He only held the hard point between his calloused fingertips.
“Fechin, please.” Instead of meeting her unspoken demand, he released her nipple and caressed her breast, making her crazed. The teasing touch wasn’t what she needed. She covered his hands with hers and pushed her chest forward, rubbing the point into his palm.
Fechin pulled his hand away denying her the relief she craved. “What do you want? Tell me.”
She couldn’t voice her need. The very thought of putting her desires into words embarrassed her. She pressed her hot face harder into his shoulder, but there was no escaping him so easily. He wove his fingers into her hair and tugged, forcing her head up and her eyes to meet his.
“You have beautiful breasts, my Azar. Full, lush mounds meant to be suckled. Is that what you want?” He brushed his lips over the tips. She moaned. “Are they sensitive?”
Azar nodded.
He pulled back. “I thought as mch.”
Was teasing her? She didn’t know how to play these sorts of games. Azar cupped one breast and lifted it to his mouth, offering herself.
“Do you want my mouth here?” Fechin tapped his finger to the hard nipple. She heard the amusement in his tone, but was beyond caring. He swept his flattened tongue over the peak, then eased back.
“Perfect. You’re perfect.” Mercifully, he closed his mouth over the tip and flicked it with his tongue. She shuddered and arched, leaning back precariously. He steadied her, a hand at her lower back, and latched on to her breast, sucking her flesh into his mouth. He became her entire focus — his teasing licks, the brush of his thumb over the base of her spine, the hungry sounds he made. The wickedly needful sounds she made. The sensations wrapped around her, cocooning her in a cloud of pure lust.
Fechin set her on her feet and spun her around to face a tree trunk. “Put your hands on the tree and don’t let go. Open for me.”
The loss of contact, and the cool night air on her skin brought her more aware. She shouldn’t be doing this. Half of her instincts said to run, the other half begged for more of his touches. Rough bark pressed against her palms. When had she lifted her arms?
His hand slid under her dress, up her thigh. His fingers found her center and stroked her.
“You are so wet.”
Azar flushed, mortified, but unable to move or speak.
“It’s good you respond so well to me. That will make things easier on you.”
Easier? He couldn’t mean to… Not here! She didn’t even know him!
He stroked, finding her nub, making her gasp, then he was pushing a finger inside her.
“You shouldn’t —”
“Shhhh. All of your body is mine to touch as I please.”
She stiffened and turned her head to glare at him, but forgot what she was going to say as she stared into his fathomless black eyes. The way he ordered her around and touched her without permission should anger and frighten her, but she couldn’t look away.
He pushed a second finger into her, stretched her.
“You are going to be so tight around my cock.” His hot breath whispering in her ear sent a shiver through her.
Her mouth opened to protest, but again, no words came out.
“That’s right. You are mine.”
But she couldn’t be his. She was going to marry Dorlan. She tried to pull away, but Fechin’s big body caged her against the tree. His fingers moved in and out of her, making her ache, building a coiling need within her. It twisted and writhed, sweeping her along in a wave of passion. Her fingers curled, digging her nails into the trunk. She lifted onto her toes, needed distance and more contact at the same time.
Fechin held her still, making her endure the exquisite torture. “Now, my Azar.”
Her body convulsed around his fingers, and she could finally make a sound as she cried out. He kissed her to devour it and held her up as her body went slack. What seemed like a long time later, her breathing evened out and she opened her eyes. She glanced toward her house. This wasn’t right. If Dorlan found out, he wouldn’t marry her. Papa would be ashamed of her. She should be ashamed of herself.
Fechin turned her toward him. “Come with me, my Azar.”
She couldn’t go anywhere with him. She just had to say no and go home. This was not right.
Fechin caught her in his deep black eyes. “I’ll show you a forest like you’ve never seen before.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”