Heart of the Exiled Read Free Page A

feeding on the kobalen’s other side. She reached up a hand and stroked his head, letting warm khi flow around him, gentle now. Memories of their coupling at the hunt flashed into her thought. As their khi began to blend, she felt the shadow of trouble in his mind fall back before rising arousal.
    The kobalen sagged, its legs no longer capable of supporting it. Sated, Shalár drew back, her lips wet and sticky. Yaras raised his head and looked at her, eyes glowing in the rising light of dawn that slid in around the edges of the window curtain.
    “Give it to the farmers. Then come back.”
    Yaras took hold of the kobalen, both its khi and its flesh, and started it stumbling toward the main room. Shalár held back the curtain and watched while he dropped the creature at the farmers’ feet. Mehir fell upon it at once. Vashakh glanced up, need and resentment warring in her eyes, then bent to join her partner.
    Yaras stood looking down for a moment, watching them feed. Shalár wondered if he would dare to defy her, but he returned. She let the curtain fall behind him.
    She felt a sudden pang of sorrow, remembering Dareth. He had done his best to fulfill her wishes, though they had not been favored with a child. One of the original survivors from Fireshore, Dareth had understood her goals better than anyone. Her people showed her respect, gave her obedience, but she doubted that any but Dareth loved her.
    Realizing that she was staring at the floor, she glancedup to find Yaras watching her. As their gazes met, his expression of curiosity fell blank, then a flicker of wariness crossed his face.
    “Come here.”
    He obeyed, saying nothing as he came to stand before her. His face showed resignation. Was it such a dreadful prospect, then, coupling with her? There were others who would not see it so, she thought, remembering Ciris’s jealousy when she had chosen Yaras for this command.
    She put her hands on Yaras’s shoulders and leaned her brow against his chest, fighting a desire to weep. That she could not afford to do. After a moment his arms came up to hold her gently, bringing her even closer to tears.
    “I want a child.”
    “I know.”
    Her hands clenched at his shoulders through the leather armor. She doubted he could feel it much, but his arms tightened around her all the same.
    “Help me. You know how it happens.”
    “I have told you all I know.”
    “Tell me again.”
    She felt him draw a breath and let it out slowly, and then a sudden soft glow filled her awareness, as if a door had opened to a room lit with torchlight. Yaras had opened himself, yielding his soul to her as freely as Dareth had ever done. Surprised, Shalár felt a tear drip along her nose and fall away.
    Memories washed over her, fragmented and filled with a jumble of feelings: passion, weariness after hunting, relief at having escaped injury, the flush of strength from feeding, and joy—sheer joy in touching each other as closely as two could touch. The last wasquickly followed by amazement as Islir’s flesh opened suddenly, swallowing Yaras more deeply, trapping him in an unfamiliar and unbreakable grip as the throes of passion sent them both into helpless frenzy. Then something Shalár had not recalled—a quiet, ecstatic peacefulness as they lay locked together in the deep embrace of conception, hearing the greeting of their child.
    Shalár swallowed, aching to experience it herself. She could feel the heat in her loins, roused by Yaras’s vivid memories. She pressed herself against him and felt the readiness of his flesh. With a gasp that was dangerously near a sob, she pushed away from him and began stripping off her tunic and legs.
    Yaras silently removed his leathers and the clothing he wore beneath. Shalár took his hand and pulled him to the bed. His skin was slightly damp, cool to the touch. She ran her hands over him, then lay back and spread her legs, gaze fixed on his face, silently commanding him to come to her.
    He did, holding