Clans of Luteri Bk. 02 Ch. 01-02

"Good morning, Ruthe," she said, tugging at the shirt as if this would make it longer.

Ruthe grinned at her, bowing.

"Good morning, pretty cousin. I came because this one was crowing at dawn like a small cock. Do you need protecting from the Tavishi? You could renounce his oath and I'll take him into the courtyard and cut off his head. It will only take a moment. He asked me to yesterday."

She looked at Kane. He smiled to let her know Ruthe was joking. Which he was not.

"No, thank you very much, Ruthe," she said.

Ruthe's brows went up and he laughed.

"You're very polite, cousin. Well, if you will not renounce him and if I cannot kill him," Ruthe said to her, giving Kane a disgusted look, "you'd better let him in before he starts singing more and I have to throw myself on my sword."

Ruthe turned to go down the hall as the Corsaire darted inside the room to escape him. Kane came in as quickly, closing the main door behind him as she streaked through the hall, the common area and straight into the bedchamber, hoping to outrun him, but Kane caught the door on the backswing and followed her in, closing the door behind himself and locking it, leaning on it. At least it was warmer in the room. She put the dresser between them.

"Hello, Corsaire," he said softly.

"Kane," she said in her reasonable voice.

"You left me freezing naked in the hall," he said, coming away from the door, stalking her, "and a victim of your cousin's taunting. The story of it will go through Corsaire clan and I won't hear the end of it when word gets to Tavishi."

"I thought you didn't talk to each other," she argued, a nervous giggle as she darting to the bed and then scrambling over it as he followed, her butt in the air.

Now the bed was between them.

"We make an exception for the really humiliating tales," he told her, coming over to her side just to watch her from behind as she did it again. "And I promised to warm your bottom, which is more than you did for me."

He came straight over the bed after her. Her eyes went wide and she fled for it, giggling, but he was right behind her, grabbing her from behind with his arm around her waist and lifting her. She shrieked, struggling and laughing as he dragged her onto the bed, putting her in front of him kneeling.

"Grasp the headboard and take your punishment, Corsaire," he said brusquely.

He was getting warmer every moment, the evidence of that between his legs and bumping on her butt when she squirmed. He dragged the shirt off her and put one of her hands on the headboard and then the other, looking down at her body.

"Stay there," he said as she struggled against him behind her, very pleasant.

She finally stilled, grasping the headboard. He kneed her legs open wide.

"I'm going to have to give you a thrashing. It won't take long. Don't move or it'll go much worse for you."

He went and got the red band he had wrapped on his arm and brought it back to her. He knelt behind her again and covered her eyes, tying it.

"Kane?" she said, her voice wavering a little.

He felt her fear, to be blind for it. He sent her his resolve. He took up her silky hair, gathering and twisting it and putting it over her shoulder in front of her. He ran his hands down her ribs, her waist, her hips, putting his hands on her round butt, caressing her there, leaning forward and speaking quietly in her ear.

"Twenty should do it."

"Twenty?"

He watched her nipples tighten. She was very nervous now. He drew away from her.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded quickly, tensing, making that face behind the blindfold she did when she was resigned to her fate. He grinned, getting on his back and sliding under her spread legs.

She felt him and jumped when he put his hands on her hips, pulling her down, spreading her more. He explored her softness with his tongue, finally licking her clit, rolling his tongue all around it, savoring her surprise and sharp pleasure. She lowered herself and moved on him, dragging herself across his tongue.

He pulled back a little.

"One," he said,

"Kane," she protested when he stopped.

"Take your punishment, Corsaire," he said.

His hands went to her breasts, squeezing her nipples above him. He returned to her, rolling her clit, the little nub hard now, teasing the tip. He did that for awhile as she got wet, her pleasure taking him, his own hips pumping with it. He drew back, his breathing ragged.

"Two," he said. "Only eighteen more, if my math is right."

By five she was ready to come, her pussy swollen. Her clit was entirely exposed from its sheath, stiff and slick. He pinched her nipples hard, capturing the little nub and sucking, her voice urging him. When he felt her strain he stopped.

"Fifteen left, Corsaire," he said.

By seven or nine she was panting with need and he wasn't much better, feeling it with her. He dragged his tongue up the length of her, her slick, the scent and taste of her sending wave after wave through him, stabbing into her entrance before licking her clit delicately. She grunted, pressing against his mouth. He stopped.

"Please, Kane," she whispered.

"I might be persuaded if you beg me better," he said, drawing back. "How many is that?"

"Eight," she said in a shuddering breath.

"You're better at it. You count then."

She cried out and pulsed when he returned to her, slow licks that kept her wanting without giving her release, his fingers still tugging and twisting her nipples. He stopped, waiting.

"N-nine," she said, squirming and hitching.

By fifteen he could barely touch her she was so close, running his tongue into her channel, all around the distended, swollen bud, not touching it. He stopped.

"Fifteen," she said, drawing in shuddering breaths. "Please Kane."

"Please what," he said, blowing air on her clit, his oath so on edge that she pulsed just with that.

"Please lick me," she said softly, part embarrassment but it aroused her, too, to be made to say it.

"Lick you where?" he said, snaking his head and licking up her inner thigh.

She didn't answer. He drew her down and touched the tip of her clit with his tongue, flicking it. She cried out and her hips jerked.

"Yes, there," she said immediately, pressing on him.

He withdrew.

"Then you'll have to tell me," he said, squeezing her nipples.

"On my...between my—."

She made a soft sound, her hips pumping when he licked again.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Say it, Corsaire."

He felt her conflict, the words dirty, her Alverian side entirely aroused.

"Please lick between my legs, Kane," she got out.

He drew one of his hands from her breast, bring it around and under her from behind, finding her entrance. He pushed two fingers into her tightness and her straining toward his mouth shifted, jutting herself against his hand, her breath shuddering. He leaned up and settled his mouth on her clit, sucking gently.

She cried out, her voice going high as he kept it going. She was pumping against his mouth. Her slick was on his chin, the taste of her. He stopped abruptly, a small cry of frustration from her.

He backed her off the headboard and over his cock as her hands went to his chest, panting. He took himself, finding her, the angle. He pressed into her pussy, stretching her, then thrust, finally seating himself as she reacted to his pleasure, moving over him.

He grasped her hips, raising her, taking her weight, thrusting roughly under her. He looked down to watch her stilled in his hands, to watch his cock stabbing into her soft tightness. He let his eyes roam over her tits, down her belly to the black hair between her legs, her pale thighs. He snaked forward and captured her dangling nipple in his teeth, biting.

She suddenly came, no sense of rising. It just crashed on her, on him, feeling it with her. Her climax triggered his own as he lifted his hips to pump into her roughly, their voices joining as she moved on him, pulsing. It was difficult to imagine the pleasure with her doubled, so intense sometimes he didn't know what to do with it but let it take him, losing all sense of himself.

He released her gently as she finally collapsed on top of him, her hair spilling over his chest. His heart was thundering under her. He put his hand behind her head, stroking her silky hair, his other hand pleasantly curving her ass.

"Have I told you how much I enjoy fucking you, Corsaire?" he panted.

"No, but I guessed it," came her answer between fast breaths.

He laughed, putting his arms around her. She relaxed onto him, stretching out on top of him, finding a place, her weight soft and warm. They should clean up but he couldn't move. He closed his eyes, patting blindly until he found the covers and then pulled them over her so she wasn't cold. They both fell asleep that way, not waking until later.

#

Kane paused in the doorway to Corsaire Hall, surveying the host in front of him, slavering and cackling over their food, Kavini at the main table, at its head. Kane waited, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. They seemed to ignore him. Then one of them tipped back his cup of cavash, drank the last of it, and slapped it on the table.

"Does anyone know a locksmith?" the man said loudly to nobody in particular, the question appearing new and unrelated to what came before it.

And there it was. It had begun. Kane made a disgusted face. He'd be subjected to similar when he got back to Tavishi clan once they heard about it, although there it would be offered with affection behind it.

"Why? Do you need one, Ichar?" came the reply, entirely predictable.

"No, but I know a Tavishi tried to pick one with his cock this morning and I thought I might send him in the correct direction," Ichar said.

Laughter.

"Was his cock too short to reach the tumbler?" a third asked.

"Yes, but narrow enough to make the hole," another answered.

More laughter.

"He must have misheard," another gave, "that he should pick the lock, not prick the lock."

Roar of laughter.

And so it went. Kane finally rolled his eyes and looked away, giving them what they wanted, evidence it bothered him. He turned to Aslin, who was shamelessly hiding behind his form.

"This is your fault, Corsaire," he hissed at her. "Go, then, before they entirely take my hide."

She came out from behind him, her hair in a loose braid, framing her face, her cheeks still flushed. She only had the Alvarian dress she'd worn off the ship, an off-white. It would seem strange to them, the skirts almost dragging on the ground, and they'd notice she wasn't wearing pants under it. Silence came to the hall, all of them staring.

"Hello," she said in general, their eyes taking in her clothing, her Luterian knife with Tavishi swirls, her hair and eyes, the bracelet on her wrist.

None of them stared at her mark. It wouldn't be respectful, but they saw it. Kavini stood, his face full of emotion.

"Will you join me at the table, daughter, and have a meal with me?"

Kane watched as she left him and walked, her eyes darting to faces. People smiled at her warmly, nodding, friendly, and by the time she reached the table she had relaxed a little. Kane leaned against the doorway again, his arms crossed.

She sat in the place they made for her, next to her father, Ruthe on the other side of her. People weren't staring at her anymore, but the hall was still quiet.

"What would you like on your plate, Aslin?" Ruthe asked her.

She looked at him.

"I don't know, Ruthe. I haven't had Luterian food that I remember," she answered.

They took that in.

"Bread with clasberry, eggs mixed with hava root," Kavini said. "It is what you wanted as a child, Aslin. Maybe you will start there."

"Thank you, High Lord," she replied.

Kavini put both his hands on the table, his face tightening.

"Are you so angry I failed you that you will not call me father anymore?" he asked her.

Aslin's hands went to her lap. She looked down.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said.

"He means to ask if you're angry that he didn't retrieve you, Aslin. He is not rebuking you," Kane clarified for her shortly, not looking at anybody.

Kane glanced at her, seeing her look at him and then at Kavini.

"I'm not angry at you, Father," she said, surprised. "You didn't know I was alive. Corsaire clan didn't. Alveria is so far. I just...I don't remember Luteri. I'm sorry that I don't. I remember you, a little. I'm pleased to find you again."

The relief in the room was palpable as Kavini smiled at her, transforming into someone Kane didn't even recognize, a kind and warm face, the High Lord's eyes suspiciously bright. The people in the Hall relaxed, speaking again. A Corsaire man came to Kane with a plate. He found a table by himself, sitting at the end. They would not welcome eating with a Tavishi.

He was almost done when Ruthe set a steaming cup of cavash in front of him with a loud clatter, sitting heavily in the seat opposite him, setting down his own cup in front of him. Kane eyed the drink.

"It's not poisoned, Tavishi," the man said shortly.

Kane took it and sipped, setting it down again.

"So trusting of my honor," Ruthe laughed, no humor in it. He sobered. "I would like to poison you. I would like to see you writhing on the floor in agony, clutching your belly."

Kane broke his bread apart.

"I know it," he replied, putting a piece in his mouth, chewing, turning his head to look at Aslin.

Aslin was smiling at her father, surrounded by Corsaire, all of them talking to her. Kane washed the bread down with another sip of cavash. He looked up to see Ruthe watching his face, the man frowning as if Kane presented a puzzle to him.

"You brought her here, brought her to Corsaire," Ruthe said.

"Corsaire are her clan."

Ruthe studied him.

"Kavini told me this morning," Ruthe said, his jaw clenching. "What happened to my pretty cousin in this barbarian land that has muted her fire."

Kane nodded again.

"You gave her justice," Ruthe observed.

"She's my oath," Kane said.

Ruthe eyed him.

"Kavini said that before you knew she was your oath you arranged to shelter her with this Alverian man who is your friend, that you protected her. That you would have let us retrieve her, dishonoring yourself, putting your feelings for her above your clan."

Kane looked down at his cup, glancing at her again. He gave a small gesture to Aslin. Ruthe looked at her and back to him.

"She is very beautiful, yes. Desirable. But you would not have seen her again."

Kane shrugged. Ruthe stared at him again and then smirked.

"That bad? Gut bleeding for a Corsaire maid, Tavishi. That must have rankled."

Kane breathed a short rueful laugh.

"Some," he replied.

Ruthe leaned back, his fingers idly playing with his cup of cavash.

"Your horse that tried to bite my Deter is Borta line?" Ruthe asked him.

Kane nodded.

"I heard that Corsaire bred Shaol's line," Kane noted. "I do not hold it against him."

"Not just Corsaire," Ruthe said. "I am the authority for the bloodline. I breed Borta for their loyalty, their size and strength, their fierceness. Their black coats. And their sweet natures."

Kane snorted briefly into his cavash.

"Deter is the same line," Ruthe said absently, leaning back again, not looking at him.

Kane finished his breakfast, pushing back his plate. Ruthe finally looked at him. Ruthe sat forward, speaking fiercely.

"I want you to know I cannot forgive you for Bevin. All morning I have searched my heart and it is not in me to forgive that you took him from me. I would kill Maele again if I could, just for another sweet taste from the cup of your pain."

Kane's jaw jumped. He took a breath, pushing his chair back and standing. He set the cup on the table.

"I do not ask your forgiveness, Ruthe, nor offer mine for Maele. But I do regret it."

#

Aslin glanced at Kane ahead of her on Shaol. She glanced back where Ruthe and three other Corsaire warriors—Cort, Shalin, and Bren—followed behind her. Aslin rode between them on the Luterian horse Corsaire clan had given her.

After breakfast, Ruthe had brought Aslin to the courtyard, leaving her in the center. Corsaire had lined its edges to watch. Kane had been there, leaning against a pillar, but the bond told her he wasn't as casual as he seemed. Evidently a disappointed Luterian horse could be a menace to a rider it didn't like.

Then her father had come out and stood framed in an arch, looking so large and stern, his arms crossed, his feet planted, and Aslin had become truly nervous.

The mare Ruthe had chosen for her, Ilian, had exploded into the courtyard, no dressing. Aslin had been surprised by her size, so tall. Aslin had taken in the spirit of the mare in a glance, graceful and powerful, moving into the space like the ground couldn't hold her, her large dark eyes roaming, her head turning side to side.

Like Shaol, her feet were ringed in front with metal for fighting. Her coat was as black as Shaol's, shining in the light coming into the courtyard. Aslin felt Kane's instant appreciation. Ilian was sleeker, smaller than Shaol, and to Aslin's eyes more beautiful than anything. Aslin had fallen for the Luterian horse completely and all at once. Feeling her response, Kane had relaxed.

Aslin hadn't been as confident that the mare would choose her. She had stayed where she was as Ilian circled her once, ignoring her. Aslin waited, hoping. Ilian had circled her again as if Aslin weren't even there, the mare stopping to make little jumps with her front feet stiff at the Corsaire gathered, her tail swishing irritably.

Coming around the front of Aslin again in a careless, arrogant trot, still circling her, the mare had suddenly stopped, four legs slightly splayed, turning her head, one eye focusing on Aslin, and then a front view. Ilian's ears had come up, her head coming up, looking strangely surprised, as if she hadn't quite seen Aslin there.

Then Ilian had come charging over, Aslin staying still as Ruthe had told her. The mare had slid to a stop right in front of her, her broad chest close to Aslin's face. The horse had backed a step and then slowly her head had come down, exploring Aslin thoroughly, lingering on the scar, excited, blowing, and again on her hair. Aslin had hoped very much, very much the horse would like her because she didn't think she could bear it if Ilian didn't.

Ilian had finally stepped back again and rested her large head against Aslin's chest, leaning into her gently. Aslin had felt her eyes sting, putting her hands on the mare's neck.

"Hello, Ilian," she had greeted the horse softly, blinking.

Her hands had gone to Ilian's cheeks, scratching, behind her ears where Shaol liked it. The horse had leaned more into her until Aslin staggered a little, Ilian's smell wonderful.

Ilian had finally pulled away, backing up, and then more. She had tossed her head and extending her neck to let out a long, earsplitting, peeling cry that rang through the courtyard, people laughing to hear it.

"Well, you're her choice, that clear enough," Ruthe said, approaching Aslin.

Ilian gave Ruthe a flat-eared glare and trotted forward, lunging a little, her teeth out, the man turning her nose away with a strong push.

"Stach, Ilian, you bitch," Ruthe said, moving, circling her and throwing a lead on her neck as a Corsaire man brought dressing into the courtyard, a Luterian saddle and bridle with Corsaire markings, blue swirls on black leather, the dark-haired man eyeing Ilian warily.

"You'll have to saddle her, Aslin, I'd rather not get bit," Ruthe said.

Aslin had picked up the saddle. Ilian was amazingly well trained, steady as Aslin finally heaved it onto the horse after several tries, getting the swing into the air that she needed, Ilian so tall. She practically had to crawl under the horse to get the girth, Ruthe calling instructions on how to distract her to give it the last tightening, how to give it enough strength.