Prisoner of the Horned Helmet Read Online Free PDF Page B

away.
    His voice was low. “What do you want?”
    “Please, allow me to finish,” she said to the fire. “You must understand, I have a thousand eyes. Ten thousand. And they have watched you for many months.” She turned to him. “But I had to see for myself, with my own eyes, that you came away from the battle with the Kitzakk scouts unhurt.”
    “You lie,” he said. His tone was harsh, wise. “If your thousand eyes can measure the man, they can measure his wounds.”
    Cobra flinched, looked away. A moment passed. Her shoulders lost strength, rounded. Her voice lost its music, became weak, shrill. She said, “I have been too long in human form. My natural skills have deserted me… at least with you.” She hesitated. “That… that is why I was afraid… and called for my friend. I… I shouldn’t have. It’s my fault you killed him.”
    Gath studied her back, took another swallow, studied her some more.
    She turned to him, looked him directly in the eye, said, “You are right, I lied. I knew you were hardly wounded. The entire forest knows it. The Grillard minstrels tell your tale at every road crossing, in every village square.” She hesitated, laughed quietly at herself. “Oh yes, I knew. The scouts were child’s play for you. They taught you nothing… were no test at all.” She turned back to the fire, softened her voice. “My true reason for coming is your strength. Because I… I need your help… your protection.”
    He took two swallows of wine. Between them he muttered, “More lies.”
    “I don’t blame you,” she said. “I have become so human, I now find it hard to trust a serpent myself.” She picked up her cloak, stood, smiled with self-mockery as she looked at him. “I’ll go now. I won’t bother you again.”
    She moved for the stairwell. He watched her, then stepped into a shadow, came away with his axe and flung it.
    The blade buried itself in the first step, brought her to an abrupt stop. She looked at him. There was a hot, challenging glint in her eyes.
    She said, “If you are asking me to stay, I accept.”
    “Who sent you here?” he demanded sharply. “Who is your master?”
    “I believe I have already told you that,” she said. There was a reckless abandon in her throaty whisper. “You are, Gath. You are my master.”

Seven
    SERPENT’S KISS
     
    C obra waited for Gath’s reaction, but he showed nothing in reply to her declaration of servitude. Taking a circuitous route, she paused to warm her hands at the fire and idly fondle a wine jar on the table, then sauntered toward him. She looked up into his eyes, and he looked away. After a moment she said softly, “They tell me that the forest women blush like little girls and giggle hotly when they say your name.”
    His jaw was clenched. He seemed no more interested than the underside of a rock.
    The playfulness left her. “I don’t blame you. You are different.” Her breath quickened. “All the others were afraid of me.”
    His dark mysterious eyes turned on her and blood suddenly gorged his cheeks. She lifted fingertips, touched one. His wide lips parted. His breathing became harsh, brutal. She moved close. Her breasts, stomach, thighs touched him.
    She whispered, “You will let me go… afterwards?”
    He put an arm around her, pulled her gently but firmly against him until her feet dangled above the floor. She coiled her arms around him, purred. He kissed her throat, the lobe of her ear.
    She moaned with pleasure, pleading, “Oh, yes.”
    He carried her to the alcove, spread her on his bed of furs with forceful but strangely gentle hands, like she had no more will than a blanket. She started to rise, feeling obliged to protest, and his lips met hers, forced her back down into the furs. His hands moved inside her garment, kneading her flesh, and the cloth surrendered, ripping away. He rolled her over slowly, fingers and lips invading naked swell and hollow. He could have broken her like a twig, but his