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  “If you’ll join me,” Brynn said, seeing the greedy way the other girl was eyeing the contents of the tray. “And keep talking.”

  “Oh, of course. Well, let me see—this is how it goes…”

  Chapter Five

  For several days after the incident at the Arena, Varin stood at his new post—on guard outside the princess’s apartments. After hours of intensely painful testing and multiple explanations on his part, it had been determined to the King’s satisfaction that his obedience cuff was indeed working, so it was safe to allow him to be near Princess Brynnalla.

  As if he would ever hurt her! His whole life was devoted to protecting her. But the King—who had bought and trained him for this very purpose—seemed unable to understand the purity of his devotion. In the end, Varin had given up trying to explain and just let the technicians shock him over and over to prove the effectiveness of his cuff.

  Now he stood at his post stoically keeping guard, though whenever the princess went in or out with her ladies in waiting, they giggled and whispered, pointing at him and throwing awed glances over their shoulders. Brynnalla, however, simply looked at him—her quiet gray eyes filled with questions.

  Varin had the feeling she was trying to get up the nerve to ask those questions soon, but he hoped she never would. It was torture enough to see her every day without being able to touch her—speaking to her, getting close to her in anything but his dreams—would be too much to bear.

  It had been different when she was at the convent of the Sisters of Chastity and Obedience. She had been far from him then—a beautiful dream he was always aware of but never able to get close to. Now, every day it felt like his bond pulled him closer to her—a bond he could never truly fulfill.

  She would never be his. Like the sun above, it was better to worship from afar than to risk being burned by trying to get too close to her.

  But soon the night came when Brynnalla came to him, wanting answers to those questions filling her lovely eyes…

  She waited until the hour was late and her ladies were gone—waited until it was dark and silent and there was no one but Varin alone, standing guard in the short hallway that led to her private chamber.

  She began by opening the door just a crack. No doubt she thought she was being very quiet but Varin’s sharp Kindred ears caught the slight sound and he felt the tiny breeze that blew from her room’s ventilation unit. Still, he stayed quiet, arms crossed over his chest, gaze straight ahead, giving her time to study him—which she was, avidly. He could feel her soft gray eyes on him almost like a physical touch.

  At last she spoke.

  “Kindred?” she said, hesitantly. And then, with more force when he didn’t answer her, “Kindred, do you hear me?”

  Still he stayed as he was, frozen like a statue, refusing to look at her, refusing to speak. Ignore her, he told himself—as though his throbbing heart would let him do that! Don’t speak to her. It’s better that way. Silence is better.

  But the little princess clearly wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. Putting her hands on her slim hips, she marched out of her doorway and came around to stand directly in front of Varin. Tilting her chin back, she looked up at him defiantly.

  “Kindred, I am addressing you!”

  Varin simply nodded.

  The princess took a short, irritated breath and frowned at him. “Then why do you not speak to me?”

  Varin shook his head. Silence was better. He would not speak to her—would not allow himself to know her outside of his dreams.

  “Kindred,” she said. “I order you to talk to me.” And added, “Please…Varin.”

  It wasn’t her order so much as her use of his name—the only name he had ever known, anyway—that finally broke down his resistance. With a sense of bitter-sweet defeat, Varin allowed himself to look at her.

  “What would you have me say, your Majesty?” he murmured at last.

  “Talk to me!” she exclaimed, clearly gratified to have finally gotten a response. “Tell me things—answer my questions.”

  “What questions are those?” Varin asked warily.

  “Anything I ask.” She lifted her chin again. “Anything at all. I want you to answer fully and truthfully. Do you swear you will?”

  “You might not like the answers,” Varin warned her.

  “I don’t care. I want to know the truth.”

  “Very well.” He nodded. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

  “Good. Now first—are you really a slave?”

  “I am.” He nodded.

  “But you wear no collar. All the other slaves have pain collars.”

  “Don’t need a collar,” Varin growled softly. “I have this…” He lifted his left wrist, showing her the black obedience band circling his wrist, just under the heel of his hand. “And a chip in my back. If it’s not changed once every solar year I’ll die.”

  “Oh!” She sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. “Is that…that what keeps you from running off?”

  “No.” Varin shook his head. “That’s not the only thing that keeps me here.”

  “What, then?” the princess demanded.

  Varin sighed. He felt compelled to tell the truth, though he didn’t want to.

  “You,” he said simply. There was no use trying to hide it—she wouldn’t stop until he answered her completely. “I stay because of you, Princess. Because I’m yours.”

  “Oh…” Her pale cheeks colored prettily and Varin thought how beautiful and fresh and lovely she looked, especially compared with all the ridiculously bejeweled, over-dressed and over-done ladies of the Court. She wore no makeup and her hair was loose around her slim shoulders instead of up on top of her head in a huge, frizzy poof. And her eyes held an innocence he’d never seen in the jaded gazes of her ladies in waiting. Those wide, gray eyes, still so full of questions…

  “So it’s true?” she asked at last. “It’s true my father bought you for me when I was just a baby?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “And you’ve been waiting for me ever since?”

  He nodded again. “Waiting to guard you. Yes.”

  She looked up at him, biting her lush lower lip in a way that was distractingly erotic. A long pause fell. It was silent in the corridor—so silent Varin could hear her heart pounding.

  “So nervous, little Princess,” he murmured gently. “Ask me what you want to know—I told you I’d answer.”

  “Is it true it hurts you when you…when you touch me?” she whispered at last. “When you caught me after I fell—did that pain you?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “But I would do it again.”

  “You would?” She put a hand to her heart, her eyes wide and uncertain. “But…why?”

  “I would do anything to keep you from harm. No matter how painful. No matter how deadly,” Varin told her softly. “As I told you, princess, I…am…yours.”

  “Oh…” Princess Brynnalla seemed to wilt for a moment, uncertainty overtaking her.

  “I told you that you might not like the answers,” Varin reminded her harshly. No doubt as a royal, she didn’t care for the idea of a mere slave being so devoted to her.

  “It’s not that,” she said quickly, looking up again. “It’s just…I’ve hardly even ever seen a male before let alone one so…so…” She coughed and blushed. “I mean you’re so big.”

  “My size and strength are only to protect you,” he tried to reassure her. “I would never, ever harm you. I hope you can believe me.”

  “I do,” she said softly. “I just…I’m trying to understand something.”

  “What?” He cocked his head at her.

  “Open your vest,” she said suddenly, ignoring his question. “I want to see your chest. Your…” she blushed, her cheeks going rosy red. “Your bare chest,” she finished in a rush.

  Silently, Varin complied. When he spread open the black leather to show the broad planes of his bare chest, Princess Brynnalla put her small hands to her mouth
to stifle a cry.

  “Oh…oh, no,” she whispered.

  Varin glanced down at himself, wondering what was troubling her so. His chest looked the same to him as always. Then he saw where her eyes were resting. Written on his left pec in flowing script were the words, “Property of Brynnalla of Galen.”

  “This?” he asked, pointing at the old scars. They had been done in fire-ink—a tattooing process that was agonizing to endure because it used an ink that burned into the flesh, branding it permanently. Varin could still feel the sting of the ink burning its way into his skin, could still remember the way he had striven to stand perfectly still that the tattoo artist might not make a mis-stroke. “Is this what’s bothering you?” he asked again. “They did it when I was fifteen cycles old, to mark me as your property—on your birthday, I believe, Princess.”

  “I remember,” she whispered, looking up at him and he saw that her soft gray eyes were filled with tears. “I was only eight—I woke up screaming in the night because I saw them hurting you …saw them burning you. Oh, Varin…” her tears spilled over and she buried her face in her hands. “I thought it was just a dream,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know it was true! I’m so sorry…so sorry.”

  He couldn’t stand by and see her hurting—couldn’t bear it. He reached for her and somehow she was in his arms, pressing her hot cheek against his chest, the sobs of remorse still wracking her slim shoulders.

  His obedience band kicked in of course—pain coursed through him but Varin didn’t care. Though his muscles stiffened with agony, he wrapped his arms around her anyway, pulling her close, wanting to comfort her in any way he could. Gods, her skin was so smooth…her hair so soft and silky against his bare skin, just as he’d known it would be…

  After a moment the band seemed to realize the princess was in pain and he was trying to assuage her hurt, just as he had in the Arena. Reluctantly, the electrical agony began to abate, leaving only a low-level current of discomfort to remind him that the female he was touching was off-limits.

  Varin stroked her soft black hair, letting his fingers trail through the long strands as he’d dreamed of. Gods, she smelled so sweet and she felt so soft and fragile in his arms. A feeling of protective possessiveness rose in him too strongly to deny and a low, growling voice inside him whispered, Mine.

  “It’s all right, Princess,” he murmured caressingly, still stroking her hair. “It’s all right, little one. Don’t cry.”

  His words seemed to wake her up somehow and Princess Brynnalla finally appeared to realize what she was doing. She looked up at him and her eyes grew wide. Suddenly she pulled away.

  Varin let her go and the pain stopped. He wanted it back—better to feel the pain and hold her than to be painless with empty arms. Still, he couldn’t expect her to want a slave to hold her for long. She must be shocked that she’d touched him at all.

  But when she opened her mouth, her words surprised him.

  “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, looking up at him. “I was just…just crying for the pain you’d been caused on my behalf and then I was hurting you again, just by touching you!”

  “I don’t mind,” he said simply. “I told you, I would bear any pain for you.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to!” she exclaimed. Angrily, she dashed the tears from her eyes. “Why did they do that to you?” she demanded, pointing at his chest. “And how…” Her voice sank to a whisper. “How did I see it? Why have I been dreaming of you all my life?”

  “I don’t know.” Varin spread his hands. “It’s only supposed to be me that dreams of you, Princess. Not the other way ‘round.”

  “But how is it possible at all?” she persisted. “How can it be?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again and shrugged. “They gave me a drop of your blood when you were just a baby. Ever after that, I had dreams and visions of you. I think it’s the way of my people.”

  “Your people? The…the Kindred?” She looked at him curiously. “Who are they? What are they like?”

  Varin shook his head. “Don’t know any of that,” he growled softly. “I have no memory of them and no one I’ve talked to seems to know anything about them. In fact, the first memory I have at all is of taking your blood…and then feeling for you.”

  “So…they forced you to…to feel this way for me?” She cleared her throat, her cheeks reddening again. “I mean, do you feel for me?”

  “Oh yes, Princess…” Varin gave her a steady look, his hands bunching into fists at his sides as he fought with himself not to touch her again, not to take her in his arms and hold her once more. “Oh yes, I feel for you, little one,” he growled.

  “Oh.” She looked down at her hands, twisting them together in obvious confusion. “I…I’m sorry,” she said at last, looking up. “For what they did to you in my name. For the way they made you feel.”

  “Don’t be,” Varin told her softly. “I’m not sorry. Not one fucking bit.”

  If his rough language shocked her, she didn’t show it. She just held his gaze for a long moment, her gray eyes searching his as though she couldn’t look away. Then, suddenly, her nerve seemed to break. With a little cry, she rushed back into her room and closed the door with a slam. Behind the locked panel, Varin could hear her panting—the soft, desperate sounds of an animal that feels cornered.

  “Princess?” he murmured, rapping gently on the door. “Princess, you don’t have to be afraid. I’m here to protect you—I’d never harm you.”

  “I…I know it.” Her voice sounded high and breathless. “I’m sorry. I…I’m tired now. I must rest. Good night!”

  “Good night, my Mistress,” he said formally, hoping to put her more at ease. “Sleep well knowing I will guard your dreams.”

  “Good night…Varin,” she whispered at last.

  He stood at the wooden panel, his hand pressed against it for a long time. And somehow, he knew she was doing the same—pressing against the door on her side, afraid to come out but unwilling to leave just yet.

  How he longed to touch her again…but he knew it was impossible. This was the closest he could come and so he stood there, wishing to hold her once more and knowing he never could.

  Chapter Six

  “I will guard your dreams,” he had said but Brynn thought he should have said, “I will invade your dreams.” Because that was what he did.

  Now that the veil was lifted and her mind’s eye was opened, she dreamed of Varin every night, whether she wanted to or not.

  She dreamed of him guarding her door as she slept, standing silent and watchful—challenging anyone who came near. She dreamed of him on the practice field, sweat stinging his eyes as he trained tirelessly, the hot sunlight glinting off his weapons as he battled opponents—his muscles flexing and sheened with his exertion.

  But it was the dreams of him bathing after his practice sessions that bothered her most. In those dreams, she saw him naked—his tall, muscular body beaded with water, the raised black lines of her name on his chest as he lathered himself with soap, his big hands traveling over his skin, washing…caressing…

  Several times in these dreams she saw him grasp his shaft in one big hand and pump it, moaning low under his breath. And sometimes she thought she heard him groan her name when the long, hard club of his sex jerked in his palm and overflowed with some white cream she didn’t recognize.

  Brynn understood instinctively this was a deeply private act she was watching. She tried hard not to look—knowing from the many lectures she’d received at the convent that what she saw was forbidden. But she found that in her dreams, she was unable to close her eyes or turn away. She was a captive observer and there was nothing she could do to stop it until she woke up.

  But when she did finally wake from such dreams, she found herself short of breath and restless—unable to get back to sleep. The tips of her breasts felt achy and tight and the place between her legs—the spot she was forbidden to touch—felt slippery and wet when she pressed her thighs toget
her. And even that—even squeezing her legs tight and close while she remembered Varin's hand on his shaft—produced a kind of pleasure she’d barely dared to dream of back in her safe, narrow bed at the convent. It excited Brynn as nothing ever had before—excited and frightened her.

  She didn’t speak to the big Kindred again for a week after their late-night encounter and he, in turn, said nothing to her. But finally the dreams got to her for a simple reason—it occurred to her that if she was able to see Varin while he bathed, he must be able to see her too.

  Once the thought was in her head, it wouldn’t leave. It would have to be addressed—as would the matter of the dreams in general, Brynn decided. There must be a way to stop them, right? If there was, she was certain the big Kindred was the only one who knew how.

  Brynn gathered her courage and waited until all her ladies in waiting had gone for the night and the palace around her was sleeping. Then she opened the door to her room again and came out to face the Kindred once again.

  He stood, silent and stoic, looking straight ahead as he always did. He didn’t speak to Brynn or even follow her with his eyes but somehow she was certain that he was keenly aware of her at all times—attuned to her in a way no other male could ever be. She couldn’t help remembering the warmth of his broad, scratchy chest against her cheek…the dark, masculine spice that seemed to be his natural scent filling her senses…

  No, she told herself firmly, pushing the thoughts away. I’m not here for that. I need to ask him about the dreams.

  “I need to ask you a question,” she said aloud, looking up at him.

  He stirred, like a statue coming to life, and looked down at her.

  “Yes, little Princess?” he rumbled, the corners of his mouth curling annoyingly.

  “Have you…” Brynn took a deep breath, trying to nerve herself up to it. “Have you seen me naked?” she asked at last, the words coming out in a rush.