Page 6 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)
Urim
T he door closes behind Adara as Larek escorts her back to her cell, her tattoo finally finished. Lady Melelea readies her inks and needles in one corner, preparing to give me my own magical tattoo. She is conversing with Queen Adalind in hushed tones, carefully cutting the queen’s palm to add more blood to the ink. When I know that the prisoner is out of earshot, I turn back to my queen, interrupting her conversation.
“This will end badly, My Queen,” I say evenly. “The mage has no loyalty but to herself and the other mages.”
“Which is why we promised her the freedom of the Mage’s Tower,” replies Queen Adalind just as evenly, the cut on her palm healing before my eyes. “It will bind her to her mission. She wants its success almost as much as we do. Do not fret so much.”
“If My King were here . . .” I start, but immediately know that it was the wrong thing to say.
My Queen’s eyes go pained for a moment before she shutters her emotions to my gaze. “Rognar is not here,” she says, more firmly than before. “He is at the battlefront with the Horde. He is not here to give orders, but I think he would agree with me even if he were here. This is not a regular war, Urim. We all know that. Our enemy is an immortal, powerful creature, akin to a god, with an army of powerful vampires fueled by the blood of sentients. It would be arrogant to say that we can win against such odds. Do not let your dislike for the mage cloud your judgment. She is the only weakness we have been able to find that may slay Grazrath, our dagger in the dark. We must use her and pray that her flame strikes true or all will be lost.”
Queen Adalind cocks her head to one side, looking at me questioningly. “Do you wish to find someone to go in your place, Urim? To take your part in the mission? I will not blame you if you do.”
I balk at the suggestion, but reply in my same measured tones. “No, My Queen. With a mission of this import and delicacy, I will trust it to no one else. Though I know that I was left here to protect you and the heir . . .”
The queen waves a hand, dismissing my words. “There are months left until I give birth. Besides, I have Dame Zera and my Gold Guard and am behind the castle walls. My child and I will be safe for the time being. And if we lose this war, nothing will save me from Grazrath’s clutches anyway. Nothing is more important than getting Adara in front of the demon. Nothing . If we are to save Anar’i from Grazrath’s dreams of conquest, he must be killed.”
I nod my head, dropping my arguments. “It is as you say, My Queen. I will not fail you.” I will not let the mage fail either , I silently add.
Queen Adalind gives a small smile at my words, but it doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. Her expression is often like this, with Rognar gone. “Good,” she says simply. “Now prepare yourself. Melelea, are you ready for Urim?”
The trolless nods. “I am ready. We should begin quickly while your blood is at its most potent.”
“Then let us start. We have much to accomplish before you all leave on the morrow.” Queen Adalind declares. “And I’ll leave you to it. As sole acting ruler, I have much that needs to be done.” With that, she sweeps out of the room, her guards at the door moving in silent, almost choreographed, steps to escort her.
With Queen Adalind gone, I move to sit in front of Lady Melelea. She begins the finicky work of transferring the magic rune into my skin, one of her own design. The glamour rune will go on my forearm for ease of use, the same place Adara’s shackling rune went on her arm. The needle pricks my skin and it burns more than I thought it would, being an orc, but it must be from the magic in the blood. I am not one for speaking when I have nothing to say and Lady Melelea doesn’t force conversation. We sit in comfortable silence and all while she works, I think and plan. I’ll need to keep the mage on a short leash and make sure she accomplishes her mission. Her words earlier give me an idea how to do just that, but it’ll be tricky. I’ll be going against my queen and risking my own life, but if I die in service of my rulers, so be it.
???
It’s late at night when I come to the cell door where the mage is staying. No longer is she in the anti-mage chamber. A concession to build goodwill between us and Adara. I can’t help but feel that it is a mistake, even with the magic tattoo on her skin, inhibiting her casting against any of our allies. Adara is smart. If she wanted to find a workaround to the magic, I’m sure she would succeed.
But it is true that she is bargaining from a place of strength. She is the only one in all of our two countries that can do this mission. We could send feelers out to surrounding countries looking for other fire mages, but there’s always the risk that the enemy will find out what we are doing and ascertain our plot. Besides, finding a fire mage and finding a fire mage willing to attempt soulfire in front of an arch-demon on a suicide mission are two different things entirely. No, this must be done and it must be done now , before Grazrath has time to grow in power, and Adara is the only candidate. Even if that fact chafes.
With a slight bitter twist of my lips, I am able to school my expression back into its emotionless mask before I knock lightly at the cell door. Another concession. She is to be treated with respect and the niceties of politeness, even though she is still technically our prisoner. I look through the grate at the top of the door and can’t see her easily, so she must be in the cot on the far side of the wall. I resist the urge to push my face closer to the grate to see what she’s up to. I don’t want her to think that she has me worried.
“Come in, Urim ,” Adara says lightly, emphasizing my name again. She obviously likes showing off this new piece of information she has gleaned. It’s true that I kept my name from her before on purpose, a method of mental torture, denying her the smallest bit of control over her situation, even the name of her tormentor. I do not like that the power balance has shifted so radically in the space of a day. It takes away the power and control I have spent months building. They are what I, as a spymaster, thrive on. I barely stop myself from grimacing again, keeping my face trained, expressionless. Something about this mage gets under my skin like no other prisoner ever has. Do I hate her, I wonder? Is that what this incessant, needling feeling is? I hope not. Hate gives the object of that emotion power over one and one’s reactions. It incites fear and obsession. I learned that lesson once. That is one of the reasons I spent so long learning to command my emotions. Still, I fear that may be what’s happening.
It’s been so long since I have truly hated anyone that I can’t quite remember the sensation, but I have felt hate before. When I was alone and tormented by those bigger and stronger than me, beaten and afraid on the streets of Ilustan, our nation’s capital. I think briefly of Gajek, the leader of the youth band of cutpurses who tormented me when I was a young child, orphaned and alone. Him, I hated and feared, a boy barely older than me who made my life on the streets a nightmare. When I rose up through the ranks of the Horde, however, I swore I would never give someone that kind of power over me again. Apparently, I was lying to myself, which frustrates me more than I can put into words. Why does she affect me so deeply?
Turning the key in the cell door, I enter the cramped and dim room. An empty cot faces me and I turn deliberately to the far wall, seeing Adara lounging on her side on the other cot, propping up her head with one hand. She smiles at me without warmth and more than a little triumph, the cat with the cream.
“Welcome to my new lodgings,” she says. “Have you come to check that I’m comfortable? I was just starting to get hungry and was going to ask for a meal.”
Hellion . What I wouldn’t give to punish her right now for her insolent little speech, but I cannot. Not now when we need her. More of that needling feeling rises up in the back of my skull, but I squash it down ruthlessly. Letting the door close behind me, I hear it latch, the sound echoing in the silence. We stare each other down, my face impassive, hers pleased and teasing.
“We need to talk,” I say finally firmly, breaking the stalemate.
“Oh?” she queries lightly, mockingly, while sitting up. “What about?”
“I don’t trust you,” I tell her calmly, yet forthrightly. “You are a wild card with no loyalty or honor except unto you and yours, and I dislike that the fate of the world rests on your shoulders. You don’t even care about the thousands of lives that hang in the balance, dependent on your success, only your own aims. Besides, I suspect that you are no warrior at heart and are, at your core, a coward. Unpredictability and cowardice are a bad combination.”
“It is a great tragedy then, that you need me so badly,” she remarks, still mocking.
“Yes,” I agree with her, though I know she is being sarcastic. “It is.”
The mage sits back on her cot, leaning against the wall, her gaze assessing. “What will you do then?” she finally asks. “We must work together. The plan and all that.”
“We will work together,” I agree blandly. “I have never failed a mission, and I have no intention of starting now. But to make sure of that, I will give you my mating bite.
“ What? ” barks out Adara, disbelieving. “I’m sorry, I must have just lost my mind because I thought that I heard you say that you were going to make me your mate?”
“It is only logical,” I tell her evenly. “I want to be able to keep tabs on you and make sure that you succeed in your mission. You want to be able to live to see the sovereignty of your precious Tower, don’t you? A soultie is the way for that to happen, for both of us.”
“But . . .” the mage says, obviously at a loss for words, which is strange for her. “. . . but I don’t even like you.”
“Nor I you,” I return calmly. “This would not be about feelings. It would be about the mission.”
“But what about orcs dying without their mates? I won’t be sticking around after the mission to have your babies and play mates with you just because you bit me.”
“The queen was forgetting the obvious,” I tell her. “There is a way to sever our mate bond. It is . . . unpleasant for you, but it would give you your freedom and preserve my life.”
“What is this ‘unpleasant’ method?” asks Adara warily.
“You will have to cut off my bite,” I say bluntly, scenting her alarm in the air. It makes her normally spicy scent rancid. Curious . I’ve never been so repulsed by someone’s fear scent. Ignoring it as best I can, I continue, “Then you will need to get a tattoo on the scar to completely sever our soultie.”
“More tattoos,” mutters the mage with a distasteful twist of her lips. She looks up at me, holding my gaze challengingly. “But if I did that, we would be separate again and we wouldn’t owe each other anything?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Completely separate.” I don’t tell her that even with this method, there is a chance that I won’t be able to have children, even if I gave a second mate bite. This method of severing a soultie is an ancient wisdom and much of the information on its side effects has been lost to time. But I never intended to have children anyway, my true loyalty to my rulers, so it will be no great loss, even if I become sterile.
“How do you know that this will work?” questions Adara, still wary. “I’ve never heard of a soultie being undone.”
“Lady Melelea, the trolless who did your tattoo, was mated to a monster of an orc,” I tell her, though I don’t tell her that Lady Melelea is Rognar’s mother and the monster was his father. “When he grew tired of her, he ordered her death, so that he could try to father children with others. To escape him, she had to cut away her mating bite so that he couldn’t feel her emotions any longer and believed her dead.”
“And the tattoo?” Adara asks.
I shake my head. “She wanted him to die of the wasting sickness, to be unable to father other children so that he could not visit misery onto another female. Had she completed the ritual with the tattoo, their soultie would have been severed and he would have been free to abuse someone else. But she knows the rune we would require and can tattoo it for you, once we return from the mission.”
“And I won’t experience any ill effects being mated to an orc?” she challenges. “There’s no mind control or anything like that?”
Her words are offensive, but I don’t react to them. “You will be able to feel my surface emotions, as I will be able to feel yours, but we will not be able to control the other. Influence, perhaps, as I’ve heard that mates can send their emotions to each other, but that is all.”
Adara purses her lips, considering. Finally, she sighs. “And I have to do this with you? There’s no other orc?”
“None that would risk what I am,” I say. And it is a risk. She could decide she wants revenge on me for her imprisonment and leave before the severing and I would get the wasting sickness, but I do not voice that aloud.
She sighs again, aggrieved. “But I r eally dislike you. Maybe even hate you. I’m not so sure that I want to be tied to you so intimately.”
I expected this response. “You must ask yourself if you want to be tied to someone you dislike for a temporary amount of time and have a higher chance of survival, or whether you wish your feelings to cloud your judgment and seal your fate.”
Her eyes narrow at my words, assessing. “You sure are trying to convince me that this is a good idea. What’s in it for you? You can’t want to be tied to me just because of my devastating beauty and winning personality.”
“If you attempt to draw out your soulfire and you burn out before you can even throw it at the demon, we are all doomed,” I answer honestly, ignoring her attempt at a quip. “We would be in an even worse position than we are now, because Grazrath would know that we know a weakness of his and that we attempted, however unsuccessfully, to use it against him. He would escalate his actions and increase his defenses, making it unlikely that we would get to strike a second time. We have one shot at this and I will do whatever I must to make it count.”
“The soultie will mean that I am using your soul as well as mine to make the soulfire,” she warns. “I don’t know what the effect of that will have on you. Likely, it will shave years off your life.”
“I am an agent of the Crown and a spy besides,” I respond. “Mine was never a life that was meant to be long or to end peacefully in my bed, surrounded by loved ones.”
Her lips still quirk up at that, teasingly cruel. “Because you don’t have any?”
I know she is needling me, but her assessment is true so I just nod. “Loved ones are liabilities that the Shield of the King can ill afford.”
The mage cocks her head. “That’s kind of sad. But I suppose that it makes more sense that you would be willing to do a mating without affection, if that is your view.”
“A loving mate was never in the stars for me,” I confirm.
Adara considers me for a moment longer, then finally nods. “Alright. Fine. I want to live to see the freedom of my brothers and sisters of the Tower, and this sounds like my greatest chance for that to happen. But don’t come crying to me when you regret your actions.”
“Regrets are for the weak and cowardly,” I reply. “I am neither. I will own the consequences of giving you my mating bite, whatever they may be.”
She raises a brow at me and then shrugs. “Alright, how do we do this then? I imagine that sex is involved.”
I almost let my shock be apparent on my face at her words, but keep my expression schooled to indifference through years of training. “You would be intimate with someone you hate?” I question.
The mage merely shrugs again. “Sex isn’t always intimacy, at least to my mind. It’s not like a kiss. Sometimes it’s just a bodily function, a necessary release. Gods know, I’ve certainly had sex with people I didn’t love before. Someone I hate isn’t too far from that.” Her gaze goes assessing, looking at my form, as if gauging whether she would want to have sex with me. Then she nods again. “I may hate you, but your body is nice and your voice is pleasant. I’m game if that’s what needs to happen for the mating to take. Besides, I could use an orgasm, or two, as long as you know what you’re doing.”
I shake my head. “It isn’t necessary, but often sex is used to lessen the pain of the bite. If timed right, a climax can overpower the sensation of being bitten. But that is normally done between willing partners . . .”
“I’m willing,” Adara says, starting to shrug out of her robes, revealing expanses of smooth skin to my eyes. “I’m no glutton for punishment. If it makes it hurt less, then I’m all for it.”
I’m surprised by the turn of events, but I view this logically. Though pleasure isn’t required for a mating bite, there is the theory that it deepens the soultie. And it’s not like I haven’t had sex without feelings before either. Sex is a weapon to a spy, a tool of the trade. So why am I hesitating? Somehow, though, having sex with this particular female, without feelings or attachments, feels wrong.
Adara doesn’t share my hesitation, however. She stands naked in the cell in front of me, her cinnamon smoke scent intensifying. She looks confident in her body, in her sexuality and a touch of arousal enters her scent as she stands before me.
“Just no kissing,” she says. “That’s for lovers.”
“I won’t have sex with you,” I tell her, keeping my voice calm to take any sting out of my words.
The mage frowns and puts her hands on her hips, her small breasts jutting out impertinently in the air. “Why not? You said that pleasure takes the edge off the bite. I don’t want to be in pain if I don’t have to be.”
“I can give you a climax without having sex with you,” I say, going over and sitting on the other cot. “Come here.”
“You’re surprisingly romantic for an orc that says he has no loved ones,” she retorts saucily, but moves to obey me. Her obedience soothes something in me, something that I don’t quite understand, but I keep myself emotionless.
“Climb on the cot and straddle my thigh,” I order, my voice still smooth and without feeling, even as a tension I don’t recognize builds within me.
“Bossy, bossy,” she smiles. “What if I don’t want to?” But her arousal scent deepens as she speaks and I know that commanding her is making her wet.
“Then I’ll make you,” I promise her, still cold and logical. “I thought you wanted pleasure? Or are you a naughty female who craves punishment?”
My words make her even more wet, her spicy scent spiking. Interesting . This was not a pressure point that I had considered. Does Adara, with all her impudence and disrespect, crave being corrected? I feel my cock harden beneath my warkilt at the realization. I have always hungered for control, for dominion, and the idea of punishing Adara, of making her submit, even more than her obedience, somehow feels right.
Adara hesitates for another moment, then takes a deliberate step back. “You know? I think I do want you to make me.”
A growl exits my throat, mixing with my sibilance . My thrumming echoes in the cell and Adara gasps as the effect takes hold. Taking advantage of her surprise, I reach forward, my long arms reaching her easily and I drag her toward me, her heady, spicy scent permeating the space. In one swift move I have her over my knee, her delectable rump in the air.
“What is this?” she gasps out, her arousal increasing.
“It is an orc’s sibilance ,” I tell her, my voice almost vibrating with my thrum. “It increases sensitivity and arousal. Now, count my strokes.”
“What strokes?” she challenges, but she squirms a little over my knee, letting me know she knows of what I speak.
Without further preamble I bring my hand down on her bottom, the slapping sound reverberating in the room. Adara gasps and moans, though from pain or pleasure, I’m not sure. But she doesn't count.
“For every time you disobey me, you’ll get two more,” I warn, though my voice is as emotionless as ever. Then my hand comes down on her bare bottom twice more in quick succession, a little harder than last time.
“Fuck!” she barks out.
“Count,” I command her again, then I spank her again.
“Ah! One!” she whines out, her beautiful seam glistening with wetness.
“Wrong,” I say, calmly, almost boredly, though I am anything but. “That was four.” I spank her again.
“Ah! Four! Five!”
“Good,” I praise, stroking her reddened cheeks softly to soothe the sting. “Now, four more.”
I strike again.
“Gods! Six!”
“Again,” I order and then give her two more swift strikes to her rump.
“Seven! Eight!”
“Good female,” I praise, though my tone is still without feeling. I rub her bottom again, with a soothing touch, preparing her. “Last one.”
My last spank lands and she gasps and curses again, barely rasping out “Nine!” Then I haul her up so that she is straddling my thigh, the way that I originally commanded her. Some tears roll down her face, but I can smell her arousal and how close she is to climax, just from her correction. Gods, she looks beautiful like this, but those are thoughts that I can ill afford to have about an asset that I am to use on a mission.
“I am your handler for this mission. Your captain and commander,” I tell her, stroking my hand down her spine, my claws sheathed. “For all intents and purposes, I have as much control over your life as Fate itself. You may have been a captain at one point, but no longer. And I expect total obedience from you. If I give an order I don’t want any questions, I want immediate action. Do you understand?”
The mage nods her head silently, arching into my touch as I travel down her spine and over her sensitized cheeks. I let my fingers trail along her side and then down her front to the apex of her thighs.
“Good female,” I thrum, barely recognizing my own voice. My cock is hard as a bar of iron, punching up in my warkilt toward the mage, but I will not take my satisfaction tonight. That’s not what this is about. Instead, I let my questing fingers find her clit and begin to massage around it, slipping through her copious arousal.
“Tell me when you are about to come,” I command her again and this time, instead of defiance, her head falls forward onto my shoulder with a moan as I build her toward her climax.
“Say, ‘yes, commander,’” I say, and again I don’t recognize my voice, so deep is my thrum and desire. I crave her obedience.
“Yes, commander ,” she breathes out, her breath tickling my neck.
I growl with approval at her submission and bring my fingers lower, toward her opening. Without warning, I pump my fingers into her, and she groans in satisfaction as I fill her. With expert precision, I find the rough place within her behind her clit and she cries out as I begin to massage it in earnest. Her hips begin to buck in my grip, her meeting me thrust for thrust as she chases her climax. Her naked breasts rub against my chest, her breath getting deeper and faster.
Finally, she whines out, “I’m close! Almost there! Almost!”
It’s time. I grab her left wrist and bring it up to my mouth. Without warning I increase the pace of my fingers, furiously attacking her weak spots. When I feel her channel bear down on my fingers and she gives a keening cry, I bite down, breaking the delicate skin of her wrist. The placement is a deliberate one, a place that will be easy for her to hide the bite under a sleeve or the cuff of her false chains. The taste of her blood floods my senses, spicy and sweet. Like a song in the back of my mind, I can slowly feel her emotions flooding me, her pleasure and confusion. She doesn’t understand what just happened between us and gods forgive me, I don’t think I do either. I think I let go of some of my treasured control and something I can’t take back just happened.
The mage catches her breath and then straightens up, my hand still between her thighs, and gives me a challenging grin. “Well, was that good for you, commander? ”
She may be trying to embarrass me for what just happened or gain back some control of the situation after surrendering to me so completely, but something about her teasing voice calling me commander sparks a strange longing inside me. Then, so quietly that at first I don’t notice it, my Mating Instinct raises its head.
Mine , it growls.
What? What? Is that what that needling feeling was? This cannot be. My Mating Instinct cannot rouse for her . This mating was meant to be without emotions, a logical step to ensure the success of our mission. I cannot be drawn to the mage. She is selfish, temperamental, and vengeful. She cannot be mine. Not truly. This mating bite was meant to only be skin-deep. I cannot want her to be mine. I hate her, don’t I? Dislike her at the very least.
Reeling, I turn my face away from her, hiding my horrifying realization. I gently, but desperately push her off of me, wanting in my haste to get out of this cell as quickly as possible. My throat croaking a little in shock, I reply, struggling to keep my tone even, “If that is all settled, I’ll be going. We leave at first light tomorrow.”
Mine , whispers my Mating Instinct again. Shut up , I internally growl back.
In my chest, I can feel her confusion and a strand of hurt or offense that she quickly covers with teasing indifference.
“Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she replies, oblivious to my rebellious feelings. “Wouldn’t want to be late to head off to our deaths.”
I don’t respond to her jibe, still trying to fight that unwelcome instinct that has woken in my chest. Opening the cell door, I use my iron will to keep myself from running back to her, from falling at her feet, and calmly close the cell behind me. I turn the key back in the lock with what should be a satisfying click, but instead, it sounds out like the knell of doom, a punctuation to the calamity I have just experienced.
“Locking the door doesn’t seem like something that should happen between mates,” she comments, walking up the grate in the door.
“I may have become your mate this night,” I choke out, barely keeping my sibilance out of my voice. Fuck . I continue, “But you have not yet done anything to earn my trust .”
“Bastard,” she remarks, but there’s no bite in her voice, almost like she’s amused by my words. Then she stretches, pushing her breasts back into the air, and gives a satisfied sigh. “Well, at least I got mine. I needed that.”
I do not respond, turning away and walking down the corridor, though my Mating Instinct pushes me to go back. To be near my mate . Fuck. Fuck!
I exit the dungeon and emerge into the night, the coolness of the air washing over my skin, which I realize is overheated. My cock still throbs and my heart squeezes with longing. Longing that she’ll be able to feel through our mate bond, if I’m not careful. I take a calming breath, pulling my emotions back under control, trying for a semblance of normalcy. But I get the feeling that it is all too late and nothing will ever be normal again.