Scarlet Nights

By Lucinda Betts

Where passion and pleasure become one. . .

She is Solstice, a sensual beauty who has dedicated her life to serving the Supplicant Queen. Yet the existence of an all-powerful Ring threatens her monarch. And Solstice herself is sent away as the captive of Axel, the one man she can never forget. . .

Axel leads the disgraced Solstice away to watch her fulfill the terms of her punishment: teaching the queen's willing subjects the art of lovemaking. Incredibly aroused by what he sees, he gives himself up to the erotic delights of her sexual powers. . ..

Praise for the erotic novels of Lucinda Betts. . .

"Moon Shadow is one of the best fantasy erotic books this year." --Road to Romance, Reviewers Choice Award

"Betts once again brings to life her incredible imagination. Fans of the fantasy/erotic genre will be very pleased." --Romantic Times on The Supplicant, four-star review

WARNING! THIS IS A REALLY HOT BOOK. (Sexually Explicit)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Nov 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9780758250049

Book preview

16

1

As Axel de la Couere leaned forward in the saddle, exhilaration poured through his veins. He finally had the slavers cornered. Finally! Mountains blocked them on the west, and city walls blocked them on the east. A band of his men waited for them in the caves ahead.

Go! he shouted to his mare. White foam from her shoulders splattered across his face as he squeezed with his calves. After all these years, he would finally bring the slavers to justice. He’d deliver them to the monarch’s feet. This foreign land would make him a hero—but that didn’t matter. He was about to save his brother.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Solstice would see his success. Would she be in court? No matter that she’d sold out to the harlot goddess, she might be the only person alive who knew what this victory meant to him.

His bay’s legs churned beneath him, but he asked for more speed. Run! He slammed his calves into the animal’s barrel as he yelled. The mare responded, lengthening her stride. Like him, she’d trained every day of the last five years for this moment. She lay her ears flat against her head and extended her neck—she gave all she had.

Her efforts bore fruit. He could see the outline of the slavers’ horses now, could count their number: ten.

He hoped Kamir and the others were keeping up behind him. But Kamir wasn’t his second-in-command without reason. Axel knew he could trust Kamir’s quick wit and fast horse.

He watched the rear rider in the slaver band look over his shoulder twenty nalps ahead. Like Axel and his men, the slavers were disguised in flowing traders’ robes, and blue linen fluttered behind their mounts like odd horsetails.

The slaver must not have liked what he saw. Axel watched him kick his horse, and even through dust Axel could see the man’s lips move as he shouted something to his party.

Try whatever you want, Axel thought as his mare slung her ears forward. Her speed did not relent. You won’t escape this time. The slavers were heading right into his trap.

Except they didn’t.

From the middle of the fleeing pack, a rider split away, his dun-colored Barbarian horse difficult to see in the flurry of sand. The main party continued on their mad gallop toward the caves.

Pus and puke, Axel muttered. He hadn’t thought any of the slavers would split. Was the leader getting away? What if the leader had the information? Before he could consider a course of action, his mare turned and bolted after the lone rider.

Fair enough, horse. He kept his balance over her withers. The One God knew he’d counted on less-informed intelligence in the past. His second-in-command could follow the main group of slavers and herd them into the trap waiting in the caves.

In the dust ahead, the rider sped past, away from his comrades—but he didn’t veer northeast into the desert as Axel expected. For a heartbeat, he felt relief. Barbarian horses were difficult to spot in the sand.

The relief didn’t last long. When the slaver turned toward Marotiri, Axel’s gut churned. What was he doing?

Axel urged his mare forward, even as he kept his eye locked on his prey. He expected the man to veer again, make a desperate bolt toward the desert. No slaver in his right mind would enter Marotiri City, not since the white-skinned queen had taken her place next to King Kalief as coruler of the land.

The bandit galloped past an arching inselberg, and Axel stood high in the saddle, trying to see through the plumes of sand. His desire for justice left an acrid taste in his mouth. No one should have to lose a brother to slavers. White skin shouldn’t doom a man to a life of servitude.

As if sensing his determination, the bay kicked her speed up another notch—but her valiant efforts were wasted. The slaver didn’t take cover in the desert.

Instead, the man galloped toward the ungated road leading to Marotiri City. Axel rubbed his eyes. Surely the sand was blurring his vision. But, no. When he looked again, he saw it clearly. The slaver was going to the city.

Axel clenched his teeth. If the slaver thought he could hide there, he knew something Axel didn’t. Not good.

White-skinned queen or not, the last place Axel wanted to go with his blond hair and pale flesh was the city. Dark eyes would measure his strength and imagine him as their property.

He pushed away the thought. No time for it. Maybe the slaver fled to the city in desperation, not as part of a plan. Maybe he thought he had no place else to go.

That was a thought worth hanging on to. Run! he urged his mare again.

His bay’s hooves clattered as the animal left the sand for the road—and then men’s angry shouts overrode the noise of hooves on brick.

Holy nomads blocked the road. Thousands of sheep and goats filled not only the cobbled path, but the sand-covered shoulders on either side of it, too.

The slaver paid no heed. He bolted into the middle of the holy flock. Sheep screamed and tried to flee, but they had no place to go.

The nomads bellowed in rage and pointed at the fleeing man with their canes. The slaver urged his horse through the terrorized sheep. The earsplitting bleats and scent of goat piss wafted through the hot air. The coppery odor of blood mingled with it.

The holy nomads began to ululate. Fury and anger laced the sound, and the high-pitched wails echoed off the rocky walls.

Axel sat back, knowing he’d caught his prey. He couldn’t see past the sheep into Marotiri proper, but he knew its citizens wouldn’t welcome this fake trader—not covered in sweat and blood, not with the nomad’s ululations clinging to the air around them.

He was wrong again, though.

By the time Axel edged his horse around the periphery of sheep and into the city, the slaver was gone. Had someone helped him, or did he have a plan? A single horseman on a sweat-lathered and winded mount couldn’t just vanish in a city square filled with people.

For a moment, rage rushed though him. How had he lost his quarry? But he pushed the anger away.

Focused now, Axel scanned the ground. Well-laid cobbles provided roadways, but Marotiri sat in a desert, and sand lined the street edges. Cobbles wouldn’t hold a track, and neither would dusty sand, but wet sand…

With a start Axel found a clue just near his mare’s hooves: the arc of a hoofprint in the dry sand. Had his own horse made it? He bent over her neck and looked. No, her feet were as dry as the surrounding dust.

Pausing for a second look, he noticed the deep red color of the print. Blood. A horse that had just galloped through sheep’s blood would have made a dark red curve like this.

Where did they lead? His eyes followed the tracks north. The chase was on again!

But Axel flashed a glance at the city guard. The soldier wouldn’t want a slaver here, Axel knew—but would he trust the word of a white man, a white trader? Axel doubted it, and he didn’t have time to find out. Ignoring the mounted guard, Axel pointed his mare toward the prints and pushed her to a trot. He’d do this alone.

Hey! one the guards called to him. You there! On the bay horse! Stop!

But Axel didn’t stop. He nudged his mare into a canter.

Hey! the guard called again. His voice echoed off the brick walls. You there! Stop! Show your papers.

Axel snorted. Papers, indeed. Why should he have to prove he was a free man? Did any of the black faces around him have to prove it?

Stop!

Axel was beyond obeying. His mare’s ears were back now. She was on the trail. The hindquarters of a horse—a dun with a black tail—vanished as its owner turned a corner. The slaver was heading into the potters’ quarters.

Axel galloped past streets of shelving, each bearing pottery. Stacks of blood-red bricks, unfired and wet, lined the street.

Slow down, fool! A woman pelted him with a handful of wet clay. It slid down his arm. You’ll buy this if you ruin it.

Apologies! he shouted, but he didn’t stop. He could see the horse he was chasing. It was a Barbarian, just the same as he’d seen in the desert, and sweat lathered its sand-colored coat.

You on the bay, stop now! The guard called again. Axel heard the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath. As long as the soldier wasn’t throwing spears or daggers…

Suddenly the narrow road he’d been following opened up, and a huge statuary fountain stood before him: an oversized naked woman standing in front of a wall. Water poured down the wall in a clean sheath. It also flowed over her breasts and filled the brimming pool with a loud splatter. The street ended here.

Hey! Axel shouted. Stop!

But the slaver ignored him as much as Axel ignored the city guard. His quarry galloped straight toward the fountain wall, and Axel’s heart pounded. He had nowhere to run.

Stop! Axel called to the man again, knowing it was futile. He pulled his dagger from his belt and prepared to throw it.

The man still didn’t stop, didn’t alter his path. Instead he rushed right toward the wall of rushing water.

What in the name of the One God’s balls? Axel brought his throwing arm back and took aim at the rider’s shoulder. His mare remained steady beneath him. Focusing on the curve of the man’s upper arm, he hurled the weapon.

The blade would’ve landed true. It would’ve brought the slaver down into the glimmering white pool surrounding the huge statue—except someone slammed into the side of his horse just as he threw, and the dagger blasted uncontrolled through the air. It flew high and fast, having all the power of Axel’s well-trained muscle behind it.

It hit the statue’s head with a reverberating clank.

I told you to stop, the city guard called.

Or at least that’s what Axel thought he said. The smashing sound of the statue’s head hitting the water and exploding ceramic obscured the guard’s words.

His horse, not liking the way the city guard’s mount slammed into her, swung her hips back and lashed. Her hooves connected with the other horse’s shoulders. The guard’s horse slid on the wet tiles. The animal hit the ground with a splash and a thud.

Despite the chaos, Axel scanned the grotto. Where had the slaver gone? The man couldn’t vanish into thin air.

You bastard. The guard pulled himself from the water as his horse struggled to gain its footing inside the slick pool of water. Stop right now. You’ve destroyed the Shrine to the Supplicant Queen.

But Axel didn’t care. He spied movement. Was that some sort of door closing behind the fountain?

His mare launched herself toward it, her hooves scrambling over the wet tile. Cool water poured over them as they ran through the cascade.

Ahead, the secret door was almost closed. The slaver was almost free. His mare rushed the wall, and he just managed to get his fingers between the white-tiled panel and the matching wall before it closed.

Pus and puke, he cursed. He managed to pry the thing open again just as the city guard’s horse regained its feet. The door was heavy, and he widened the gap just far enough for his horse to squeeze through.

Go! His mare, brave creature that she was, rushed into the dark tunnel without hesitation.

Not wanting the city guard to follow, Axel found a huge iron ring on the inside of the door and jerked it. The door closed with a hissing sound, shutting out the sunlight.

Axel examined the tunnel’s interior. Two Barbarian horses stood without riders. Their reins had been looped around an iron rail. Funny. He’d thought he’d been chasing one. He had been chasing one. The most interior horse—a gelding, he saw—was clean and rested. The other was breathing hard and covered with sweat. The slaver had inside help.

Did he know either horse? He heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, but still, he paused. Barbarian horses were notoriously difficult to tell apart. All had black manes and tail, and all had dun coats. These were no different.

Axel slid out of the saddle, his boots sloshing in the shallow pool. He tied his reins around his mare’s neck and laid his palm on her neck. She might be the best horse he’d ever had, but his brother’s life was at stake, and the man he chased could lead him to Grey. If Axel failed, some soldier—some lucky soldier—would claim the mare.

He headed toward the stairs.

Except the cool horse shifted then, and Axel looked twice. The gelding had a scar on its coronet band, a short slash of white in the black above its right rear foot. The scar was less than the width of his thumb.

Far above him, Axel heard a door squeak, and he took the steps two at a time.

It wasn’t until he hit the first landing that he realized where he was. A huge pennant hung down the long wall, a black trefoil against a scarlet background. The queen’s colors.

He had followed the slaver into the palace of the Supplicant Queen.

Even as Grip’s skilled lips and tongue brought her body to the precipice of an orgasm, Solstice wanted to cry—not in pleasure, but in sorrow.

He slid his hot tongue between her folds and over her swollen nub, and tears seared her cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away—she couldn’t risk leaving any hint of regret for the queen’s guards.

For a moment she wished she were a child again, back in a world of happiness and ease—a world without politics. Before she could stop herself, Axel’s face sprang to mind, but she pushed it away before the memory could hurt her.

Grip slid his fingers deep into her, curving them to fit her form. Despite his youth, he knew his way around a woman’s body. His fingers caressed the spot deep within her, the spot that brought women into the loving grace of She Who Listens. Swirling his thumb around her nub, he touched the goddess spot again, and Solstice gasped, arching her body to meet him.

Grip’s tongue circled slowly, and she couldn’t think anymore. He slid his fingers out, teasing her now. Writhing in near ecstasy, she felt the faint touch of the goddess in her mind.

Solstice had chosen this path, but not until this moment—not until he brought her right to the orgasm’s edge where she had to push her goddess away—did she wonder if she’d chosen correctly. What if she ruined her life for nothing?

Grip must have sensed her reluctance. He pulled back. We can stop now. This is a bad idea. Grip’s words weren’t teasing. They were serious, and they broke Solstice’s tenuous contact with She Who Listens.

Grip, she said. He couldn’t stop now.

Listen to me. He ran his hand over her face, his fingers slow and gentle. No one need know what we’ve done here. We can sit up and compose ourselves. When the guards come, they’ll find nothing but a proper Hand-to-Be and her ever-loyal escort, the king’s second.

It’s not possible. Her core ached for his cock, but desire wasn’t what provoked her to take his hand and pull him closer. Please, help me see this through.

Grip didn’t resist her touch, and his cock throbbed in her hand. Solstice, love. He lay his body over hers, comforting her with his warmth and kissing away her tears. In their years of friendship, she’d never guessed how tender his lips would be. I’ll stay, I promise. But you don’t have to go through with this. Truly.

She wished he were right. She took a deep breath. I need to do this. Please. She caressed his solid phallus in her hand, making him groan. Don’t stop.

Why are you doing this?

I can’t tell you yet. It’s too dangerous.

Grip seemed to accept the answer. The faint line on his smooth skin vanished, and he lowered his head, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked hard, sending bolts of heated pleasure through her.

She arched her back, giving him full access to her breasts. Every part of her ached for him—every part of her except her pride.

He covered the hollow beneath her throat in tiny kisses. When will you tell me?

She wished he’d quit talking, but he deserved an answer. At her request, he had arranged this tryst, found the time and place. He knew exactly when the soldier’s so-called random patrol would discover them in this seldom-used part of the palace.

She tipped her chin back, and his kisses traveled up her neck toward her lips. Tomorrow, she said. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you.

He stroked her neck with strong fingers. His gray eyes met hers, and she saw devotion there. Let me shield you from whatever you’re running from.

Grip. She wasn’t running from anything; she was running to it. She had to get to Greenhaven and retrieve the Azalea Ring. She had to do it now, and she had to do it without raising any questions from the queen or her citizens.

And she needed his help. The quest would be impossible without his strength and cunning. This is difficult enough. You can’t change my decision.

But the queen. He ran his hand over her breast and down the length of her stomach, letting his fingers dance over her hips. She worships you. Why are you doing this to her?

She parted her thighs, begging him to fulfill her—begging him to stop talking. Her aching heart had no room for doubt. You said you trusted me, she said. Trust me now.

Don’t fight dirty. He wrapped his tongue around her nipple and pressed. She gasped. Grip’s time as a Temple Virgin had been well spent. He knew how to bring a woman into the presence of the goddess. You know I trust you. He released her tender flesh. But if you told me your secret, I might be able to help.

You are helping.

Some people are helped by fucking me, he chuckled. But not the Hand-to-Be. He pulled away from her then, propping himself on his elbows so the length of his body hovered above hers, leaving her cold. There has to be a better solution than compromising your—

She’d had enough words. If he kept this up, the soldiers would discover the Hand-to-Be and the king’s second doing nothing more outrageous than talking without clothes. That would not get them banished to Greenhaven.

She arched her body toward his so that her stomach pressed against his, and his phallus throbbed between her thighs. The guards will be here in five heartbeats, she said. And I want you now. I need you now.

Solstice.

She took his cock in her hands and slid him over her pearl. Once. Twice. Then the orgasm’s promise danced only a stroke away. Above her, she felt his body quiver. Even his temple-trained control couldn’t withstand a woman wet with desire begging for fulfillment, even if it meant the woman’s downfall and their joint expulsion from court.

I don’t think— he growled.

She didn’t give him a choice. She sheathed him inside her, and he quit fighting. He plunged into her, deep, deeper. Oh, goddess, her muscles ached with the delicious pain of the penetration.

His lips found her neck and sucked as his fingers danced over her swollen nub. He slid his cock nearly out of her and groaned, but her imminent orgasm demanded more from him.

She dug her fingers into his muscled ass and pulled him into her. Now!

He obeyed. He lost himself in the pleasure of her body, and she closed her eyes, trying to stave off the delight of his touch. Maybe the guards would arrive before Grip worked his magic.

But the exquisite delight of the orgasm took hold. It began so lightly she hardly believed it was upon her. Still, as he buried himself in her with perfect rhythm, she felt the fingers of She Who Listens take complete hold of her body, wracking her with pleasure.

Grip slowed his thrusts. Then he pulled himself from her to bury his face in the folds between her thighs. The delicate spirals of his tongue sent bolts of pleasure to her very core. His tongue darted and danced, bringing her closer to the orgasm’s edge.

Then his mouth left the cleft between her thighs and made a heated trail toward her breasts. He sank his phallus slowly into her as his lips caressed her nipple. Again, intense pleasure vibrated just beneath the surface.

He slowly thrust himself into her, and her body responded, almost against her will. The orgasm took a solid hold of her this time.

Yes! she shouted into the corridor, her voice echoing off the copper sculpture and the porcelain urn. If the soldiers were close enough, they’d hear.

She wanted this. Her country needed this. Grip met her thrusts, his face twisted in intense delight. Solstice wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled herself toward him.

The orgasm grabbed hold of her core and spread through. For a heartbeat she felt the beating presence of She Who Listens, could almost hear her voice.

That wouldn’t do. Solstice tried to block the goddess, or at least steel herself against her glorious charms. But the feather-light touch of She Who Listens brushed against her mind.

Expecting recriminations, Solstice hardened her heart. She’d lived her life following a true path, one where every word she heard