The pillars of creation

Still recovering his strength, Oba rose up, leaning against the wall, watching as she provocatively used the back of one hand to wipe blood from her mouth. With her other hand, she tugged at her leather outfit, trying to cover herself. She was dazed, no doubt by her heady brush with lust, and was unable to get her trembling hands to work right. Having trouble balancing, she staggered sideways a couple of steps. It appeared as if it was all she could do to stand. Oba was surprised that her bones weren't broken, considering their brief but vigorous love tussle. There would be time for that.

Blood trickled from the love bites on her neck. He noticed that her blond hair was matted with blood from when he had banged her head against the stone floor. Oba reminded himself to be mindful of his strength, lest he end it prematurely. That had happened before. He had to be careful; women were delicate.

Oba, still panting to catch his breath, still hobbled by the throbbing ache between his legs, fixed his gaze on the guard. The man had remarkable control to stand there so confidently, considering that he was in the presence of a Rahl.

Their gazes met. The man took a step forward.

The eyes of the voice opened to look at him, too.

The man froze.

Oba grinned.

"Mistress Nyda," the guard whispered, his eyes staring, fixed on Oba, "I think you'd better get out of here."

She frowned at him as she tried to pull her leather up over her shapely hips. She was still having trouble balancing, and trying to tug her outfit back into place wasn't helping.

"We don't want her to leave," Oba said.

The guard's wide eyes stared.

"We don't want her to leave," Oba said again, in unison with the voice. "We can both enjoy her."

"We don't want her to leave. ." the guard repeated.

Pausing in her attempt to cover herself, Mistress Nyda looked from the guard to Oba.

"Bring her to me," Oba commanded, amazed at what the voice could think of, and delighted by the very notion. "Bring her over here, and we will both have her."

The woman, still unsteady, followed Oba's gaze to the guard. When she saw his face, she tried to snatch her dangling red rod. The guard seized her wrist, preventing her from getting at it. His other hand swept around her waist. She fought him, but he was a big man, and she was already woozy.

Oba grinned as he watched the guard dragging the struggling Nyda closer. The man's fingers roamed over her exposed flesh as Oba's had done.

"She feels delightful, don't you think?" Oba asked.

The guard smiled and nodded as he wrestled the woman toward the back of the prison cell where Oba and the voice waited.

When they were close enough, Oba reached for her. It was time he finished what he had started. Finished it good.

She seized the guard's clothes in her fists for support. With stunning speed, her whole body twisted in midair. From nowhere, for just an instant, Oba saw the bottom of the heel of her boot flying at his face like a bolt of lightning. Before he could react, the world went black amid a stunning crash of pain.

CHAPTER 43

Oba opened his eyes to darkness. He was lying on his back, on a stone floor. His face throbbed in pain. He drew his knees up and comforted his aching groin.

That vixen, Nyda, had proven as troublesome as any woman he had ever known. It seemed like he was always being tormented by troublesome women. They were all jealous of him, of his importance. They were all trying to keep him down.

Oba was getting weary of waking up in cold dark places, too. He had hated the way, throughout his life, he was always waking up in some confined place. They were always hot or cold. No place he had ever been locked in was ever comfortable.

He wondered if his lunatic mother, or the troublesome sorceress, Lathea, or her swamp-witch sister had something to do with this. They were selfish, and certain to be bent on revenge. This had all the markings of a vindictive act by that pompous trio.

But they were dead. Oba wasn't entirely certain that death protected him from those three harpies. They were devious in life; death wasn't likely to have reformed them.

The more he thought about it, though, he had to admit that this was most likely entirely the doing of that vixen in red leather, Nyda. She had cleverly pretended to be dizzy and disoriented until the guard had brought her close enough to strike, and then she had kicked him. She was something. It was hard to hold a grudge against a woman who wanted him so badly. The thought of not having Oba exclusively probably drove her to it. She wanted to be alone with him. He supposed he couldn't blame her.

Now that he had publicly acknowledged his royal standing, Oba had to recognize that there would be women of such intense passions who would want what he had to offer. He had to be prepared to live up to the demands of being a true Rahl.