She was like a rocking boat. Pulling away. Leaning in. She did not fight against the pressure at her throat. Or the press of his kiss. Roan was almost certain she leaned into it, lips parting in desire so that he could slip his tongue in. He did not, thrusting her away instead. Just in time to avoid her snapping teeth, which tugged at his lip before they parted.

"Are gremlins somehow harder to kill?" Roan challenged, though he already knew the answer. Her neck hadn't snapped beneath his fingers. His shoulders twitched backward, watching as she fondled the concoction she'd spread on her head. She shouldn't have run from him. Snorting, Roan shook his head at her.

"I don't have any men in the village." He denied again. What they did there he couldn't say. Wanton murder wasn't always the case, though it happened. And plenty of rape and kidnapping, depending on who was running. Michael seemed less inclined to destruction and spearing than proper raiding, anyway.

Roan blamed the wife he was not allowed to meet. But just then he did not wish to think of wives, especially his own sweet Zephyrine. Not with this filthy woman clinging desperately to his arm. Roan cupped her elbow in his palm to help her steady herself, body curving her direction, as if he would coil around her like a snake.

Instead he swooped upon her like a bird. Ignoring her tugging, as if he could be lead like a dog on a leash. Roan lifted her into his arms, fingers spread to support, and touch, as much of her as possible. "For killing, gremlin. Its for killing." And shielding, but Roan left that part out, just as he'd avoided commenting on her ability to find a healer.

Sticking his nose in her hair, he wandered off the direction she'd been trying to force him, squeezing her tight to his body so he could feel it mold against his. The point of her hip, hard a biting. And the soft give of her breast.

She was placid, for a time. It pleased Roan, but he wasn't sure he trusted in. There was almost always one last, nasty bite in animals slake in the snare. It was a trick, surely. A gathering of strength before the final punishment. Or idiocy, on her account. She couldn't hurt him. Roan was bigger, faster, and stronger.

The tree had been luck. And luck wouldn't come twice to her bidding.

She certainly didn't like it. Huffing as he sniffed her, but being still beneath his questing tongue. She didn't even wiggle. Maybe she did like it. Roan wanted to imagine she did. He was handsome, and the ladies always cooed over his Jewels and Caste back home.

Sia, Sia, Sia he sang to himself. Roan looked her over. Sia. It didn't fit at all. Maybe it would once she was clean, a state he planned on seeing her get to. The image of stripping her down and scrubbing her clean was an enticing one, to be sure. It made his hands a little more greedy as he chuckled at her demands.

"No men." He corrected, finger tapping the tip of her impertinent nose. His name he kept to himself, refusing to give in to her every demand. But he did so want to hear her say it. His hands helped her closer when she came, wandering as she settled against his chest, meek as a kitten.

She had to be up to something. "And that was pure luck, my little dove. The tree got me, not you." Roan nuzzled her, arms and legs securing her nearness. He spread a hand over her ribs, fitting the underside of her breast in the gap between his thumb and forefinger. Oh she very much had to be up to something.

Roan ate it up anyway. Leaning into her so that their breath mingled. The tingle her finger left in its wake spread quickly across his whole body. It was not at all like anything he'd experienced before. He wanted to give in. To heed the reason of her foolishness. But it was foolishness. Roan licked at her.

"Visit you? Where? Certainly not here. As soon as my back is turned you'll be gone never to return." He wasn't stupid. She'd have to hit him in the head with a dozen more trees for him to fall for such a thing. Roan kissed her cheek, lips parting, his open mouth crept across her skin to her ear, where he practically purred. "And what makes you think I won't kill you anyway? And enjoy it when I do?"

Roan wasn't used to women who didn't care about their appearance. Maybe she was just angry. Zephyrine was always clean. And shining. But it didn't do to think of his wife while he held another woman to his lap. All the women of Paon knew how to turn out. So many flowing skirts. And bear skin.

This one. This one looked like she rolled about in the muddy pits they found pigs in.

He laughed at her. "Alright." He vanished the rag, willing to see where her stubbornness lead her to. He shifted as he called a box in, Opal pooling in his body. Just a box, packed full of things. Plant things. He should take it from her, put it away in his own cabinet. There could be dangerous things in there. Or useful. But Roan let her do as she pleased.

Because it pleased him.

Strange, dirty woman, ordering him about. Smirking, he dropped the shield without imagining doing otherwise. His legs circling her body while he watched her apply the paste. Fencing her in with his long limbs so he could trip her back to his chest if she tried to get away. He wasn't done smelling her.

His grin grew when he caught her looking back at him. Women did that. Men too, sometimes if they were bent that way. Roan was used to it, and still flattered in a passive way by the attention. Mother Night had truly smiled on him in more ways than one. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He smiled, eyes empty. Roan slid closer, legs tightening around her body. He wanted to slide his arms around her too, but refrained.

"It's just me here. And I'm just fine, little song bird." He let her fuss though, sly probes sliding outward to see where the others might be. Busy. Or even going home now. The closer she came, the deeper he breathed, trying to capture her scent. His hand crept to her side, fingers sliding along her ribs, nose dipping toward her dirty skin and braided hair. 

"Closer." He crooned. "It hurts mightily."

Why were there so many vines to trip on? Roan had never experienced anything so like the twisted jungles of Paon - outside of Paon. The faster he moved, the more trees he felled, the more often he found his body stumbling toward the ground. It made him angry.. er. He yanked at them as they twisted around his ankles.

Howling as he dragged them from the ground and flung them away from him. Chasing the trees he knocked down. Eyes searching, nose smelling. Never thinking that knocking down a tree a person was in might harm them. Hardly thinking at all, he was driven by the howling beast. The other male forgotten. The fact that they had shared a ship to these shores never even thought of.

At the moment there was no pack. Just Roan and the girl-woman, whatever she was. Nasty, hiding thing, with that not right smell he couldn't get enough of. What was she? He had to know. And then her blood sang to him. That had to be her. Grinning, Roan ran her down, which was easy to do. She was sprawled motionless on the ground.

The snow around her dark hair was stained red. The smell of tickled his nose. Burned the back of his throat. Roan's teeth gnashed, the prince inside of him screaming. Fool, fool, fool. He should kill her, Roan thought. Surely he should finish it. Hand sliding under her body, he hefted her up instead, cradling her against his chest. Elbow lifting her shoulders higher so he could sniff at her temple and hair.

Craft pooling at the wound at the back of her head to staunch the bleeding. He could do that much. Any warrior ought to know how. "I told you not to runaway." He told her, kissing her cheek and nuzzling that good place in front of her ear. He really should kill her. Instead Roan held her tighter. Too tight. Clutching her possessively as he walked off into the trees.

No place in mind. Somewhere quiet where he could sit and pet her. Waiting for her to wake up. Back against a tree. Craft warming the freezing night air. Woman like a baby in his lap, head pillowed on his shoulder. She was quite pretty, he decided, wiping the dirt from her face. A wild little bitch, but pretty. Roan wanted her. Needed her. "Are you awake?" He asked her, the prince laughing inside.

Tricky little bitch. Roan felt one of the laces on his boot tug free, snagging on twisting vine thorn and pulling loose. It was like a distant thing, happening far away to someone else. Needle teeth slipped through his shield and bit against his clothing. Snagging and plucking as he tried to close the distance between himself and the woman. All his focus intent and transfixed on this one point.

On her. The rest of the world did not exist. The little hurts did not matter. The rumble in the ground was just the snarl in his chest.

She retreated, and he chased. Craft rocking the world around them and knocking her down. A howl of triumph rose in the back of his throat. Roan tripped on his own boot lace running her down. He tumbled after her, reaching out to catch himself with one hand. And to pin her sword bearing hand with his other. His control slipped away, burying his face in her hair, he inhaled. Her blood sang around them, metallic salt in the air, wooing him.

Roan groaned, licking her temple as she wiggled. "Where are you going?" He demanded, trying to pull her back. Swatting the sword away as she writhed, Roan didn't want to worry about being stabbed while he pawed at her, hand latching onto her hips as she kicked away. His shields exploding as she fled and the tree cracked over his shoulders, driving him into the dirt.

Where had that come from? Confusion turned swiftly to rage. Humiliation to defense. Pressing himself upward, Roan sank deep into his Red and let it loose. Power roared out of his body, shattering the tree and jarring his bones, which ached from the impact of both the tree and the craft. Wood rained down around them, and drew attention from those who had slunk too close.

"Get. Back. Here." He snarled. With him was where she belonged. This one he was taking back. She had a lesson to learn. Stumbling to his feet, Roan joined the chase again.

The fabric of his clothing had parted. Cut, he realized, as the cold air wove its way into the crack to caress his skin. Shields too tight to protect clothing he was likely to discard anyway. Roan so hated to bring all the cling psychic imprints left of his raid clothing home to disturb his wife.

Or make her ask questions.

A single bead of blood welled his shoulder blade. Roan could smell his own power in it. The heaviness of his caste, and the dark promise of his Red. Licking his lips, he took in the scene. A wild creature was poised before him. All tangled hair and dirty hides, waving a sword at him like a child's toy. Roan blinked, half crouched and ready. His thumb rubbing strands of hair along his finger.

"Really?" He asked her, surprise rising the pitch of his snarled accusation. A sword? Against him? Maybe she didn't understand. She was foolish enough to engage him in first place. Roan's heart stuttered in his chest. He hated killing women. But when he walked the fields, Roan killed everything without much thought.

But the killing field did not stretch between them. Just snow and confusion tinged annoyance. "That was, lady, very stupid of you." Maybe he was capture her. It was the thing to do. Drag pretty women back to the islands to serve Paon's glory as slaves. Roan ambushed her with probes. A woman, most definitely, with Jewels a blink in comparison to his Red.

Most of her his however. Caste and flat taste on his tongue. It was like her appearance, too muddied to be judged. He brought the hair she'd shed in his fist to his nose, sniffing. Not quite. That little voice whispered, disturbing him. Roan shrugged it away and lunged, one long arm snaking out to test her reflexes. Craft sweeping out for the opposite ankle.

He wasn't afraid of some furlined waif brandishing a sword. Lazy as he was, Roan was a warrior of Paon.

Was he too impatient? Roan swept his gaze up from her body to her face. The curve of her cheekbone. Th shadow across her shoulder. Her nails tickled him. The almost sensation-less press of her natural nails, dangerous anyway because she was a black widow. The chilling metal scratch of the decorative nails she wore over them. It made the hair on his neck bristle.

No. She was teasing him. Tormenting him. Roan ate it up. "Good." He told her, too entranced to be clever or sweet. He couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else. And since Zephyrine was his, she shouldn't be able to either. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Roan's fingers traced the back of her thighs, mouth chasing her body with little nibbles and kisses.

Tormenting him. Always teasing him. Roan hid a smile in her elbow, palms sweeping up her sides. Cupping the shape of her body. Waist. Ribs. Thumbs brushing the outer edges of her breasts. Breasts. "Zephyrine." Roan sang in warning. But there was no danger behind the threat. He just wanted her to know that he knew. Knew she dangled herself above him like a prize on purpose.

So close his spear was sure it could feel the shape of her. Warm folds enveloping him. But her knees were above water. Her body much too dry. Sucking her lower lip, Roan batted his eyelashes at her. Thick and sun bleached at the tips. He felt all over struck by her beauty. And her wickedness. That she was his alone swelled upward in him fiercely. Violently.

Growling, he licked the space between her breasts, fingers curling over her shoulders and pulling her down until his imagination was put away for reality. Heat to heat. "Right there." He rumbled, her earring clattering across his face as he fanned kisses up her neck. His hips jerked, their thrust halted and turned into a measured stroke. Sliding his spear between their bodies.

Roan held her still with a hand at the back of her throat. The other he slid down her spine. Over her sweet ass with a pinch, and then beneath it, fingers seeking to make sure she was ready. That she was pleased.

This is what made raiding so painful. It had been a chore before he'd found himself suddenly with a wife, but afterward Roan had fought the bit of expectation every step of the way. She was his. His first responsibility and care. When Roan was home in Corlay, only Zephyrine mattered. She consumed him.

And drove him mad. Taunting woman. Her Jewels should have shamed them both, but Zephyrine was so wicked. She turned everything to her purpose. And why did she need dark Jewels when she had his at her disposal? Zephyrine needed nothing but Roan. Wanted nothing but Roan. Warming under his fingers, she lead the way, but kept close so he could touch her.

Pressed closer still when he dragged her tight to him. Roan leaned into her seeking lips, arms circling her body as she reached back to hold him. He flattened his palm to her stomach, fingers spread wide so he could feel the hard mound of her pelvis, and the softness below her navel all at once. "Of course. I would never want to offend my wife with the stink of the mainland." And he always wanted to do what Zephyrine wanted him to.

Roan's other hand traveled up. Cupping and squeezing a breast. Thumb pinching before her slid it higher. Tangling with her necklace as he wrapped his fingers around her throat. Thump tilting her chin up so he could kiss her wicked, wicked lips. Bite at her dangerous tongue. Some warned she would lead him astray, but Roan only laughed. Zephyrine loved him, and he would believe nothing else.

He loved her too. Fingers gathering her skirt upward until he could trap it under his forearm and slide his hand down. Reach under her skirts to the warm place between her thighs. "You'll come in with me, of course?" His spear throbbed, fingers tightening at her throat, eyes drinking in the sight of her upthrust breasts. Roan ground against her.

In the water she would be slick and wet. As slippery as her caste. He'd have to hold her tight to keep her where he wanted her. Needed her.