Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [109]
Caelan ran his fingers down his throat until he vomited up the blood.
Spitting and wiping his mouth, he moved to another, cleaner corner and leaned back on his haunches, bracing his shoulder against the wall. Bitterness lay sour in his mouth, and he found the old hatred rekindled in his heart. Perhaps it was a mercy to die on the morrow. He would certainly rather be dead than to continue like this.
But another part of him raged silently, demanding vengeance for all the degradations that he had known. He had to find a way to battle free of slavery. He had to live, and win, and survive.
The strange, frightening scent that he’d been unable to identify earlier now returned to the air.
Startled, Caelan lifted his head and gazed at the passageway. Only darkness lay inside it, a darkness he did not want to explore.
“Come,” whispered a voice. It was strange and mysterious, raspy yet soft, and definitely female. “Come to me, man of violence, and let me give you power to win on the morrow.”
The hair rose on the back of Caelan’s neck. Wide-eyed and dry-mouthed, he stared at the passageway, trying to see what spoke to him from the shadows. He saw nothing, yet she was out there.
“Do not fear,” she whispered. “I am given to you until the dawn.”
His mind raced. A prostitute?
Everyone knew a man lost his prowess by indulging himself the night before combat. Like draining blood from men under the guise of initiation rites, this was another trick designed to see that the trainees failed.
Angry, Caelan jumped to his feet. “Go away,” he said curtly. “I don’t want you.”
“You must come to me,” she whispered, her voice sultry and enticing. “I have power to give you.”
“You will steal my power,” he retorted. “Begone fromme!”
“You are wrong.”
There was silence for a moment, and he thought she’d left. The fire still blazed in the mouth of the carving, cutting him off from leaving the way he’d entered. From the larger chamber beyond came the sounds of the guards talking. The priests filed out in silence, their footsteps walking in even cadence.
He thought that as soon as everyone had gone, he would find a way to scatter the fire or smother it. Then perhaps he could get out of this place.
A scraping sound, as though something heavy were being dragged, came from the passageway.
“I can approach no closer,” she called softly, her voice sounding breathless and strained. “I cannot enter the light. Come to me, and I will share wonderful secrets with you. It will be a night to remember always. This I promise.”
“I’m sure,” he said grimly. “But I’m not interested.”
“You are gruff and fierce,” she replied as though amused. “But when does a man refuse pleasure?”
“I do,” he said, although the more she talked, the more uncomfortable and uneasy he felt. “I said no.”
She began to sing, softly and throatily. Despite his suspicions, life stirred in his groin, He frowned and tried to block out the sound, but for once he could not tune it out. Even an attempt to sever did not work, he could not say the sound was melodic or pleasing, and yet it sent swift ripples of desire through his muscles. He found himself turning in that direction, swaying in time with the song, his breath rasping in his throat.
“Come,” she sang. “Come, for I am given to you to make you happy, to make you forget tomorrow. I am given to strengthen you and make you invincible. I am better than wine. Come to me, Caelan E’non. Come.”
He was afraid of the spell she was weaving over him, and yet into his mind came an image of a woman with pale flowing hair. She was running naked through a meadow of alpine flowers, laughing, her arms outstretched as though she were flying. He wanted to run with her, to laugh with her, to catch her in his arms and swing her to the ground.
Before he realized it, he was walking across the small room, drawn by a force greater than his own will. Through a haze he wondered how she knew his name. Through