The Wanderer: Wasteland, #1

By Crystal Jordan

Love is the most dangerous experiment of all.

 

There is only one rule in the Wasteland: survive.

 

The few remaining women are as reviled as they are worshipped, a commodity any man must pay to touch. And to touch a Wanderer, he may pay with his life.

For Ezra, the risk is worth the reward. People speak his name with the same reverent terror reserved for ancient, wrathful gods, but he must always be ready to fend off those who would take what's his. And what he wants to be his is Kadira.

 

Kadira, adopted after she witnessed the slaughter of her devoted parents, has vowed never to love or need anyone. It seems only fitting that she, an outsider, accept Ezra's demand in trade for the fuel technology her clan needs—but her deep, unexpected need for him is the torture she's fought all her life to avoid. Worse, the greater her wrath, the more he seems to like it.

 

Ezra's mercenary half delights at having the warrior woman in his arms. His scientist half can't resist the urge to see what makes her react—and what makes her explode.

 

The real experiment: if the bond they forge is strong enough to make her want to stay.

 

Note: This story was previously published.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CJ Books
• Release date: Dec 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393774259

Crystal Jordan

Crystal Jordan began writing romance after she finished graduate school and needed something to fill the hours that used to be eaten away by homework. She is originally from California, but has lived and worked all over the United States. Currently, she serves as a librarian at a university in her home state and writes paranormal, futuristic, contemporary, and erotic romance. Crystal loves to hear from her readers via her email: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

In 2012, the world came to a grinding halt as radiation hit from a massive solar storm. Crops died, animals perished, cities fell and humans became little more than beasts themselves. Under the threat of starvation, civility was reduced to mere memory. Only the strongest men survived, and physically weaker women and children wasted to nothingness.

More than a century later, humanity struggles in the desert Wasteland. The solar radiation rendered most women infertile, and the population dwindles more with each year that passes. Scattered up and down coasts, isolated cities eke out an existence from fishing, foraging and hunting for what little game is left. Outside the city walls, men face the threat of pirates and raiders.

Few women remain, divided into four classes—Whores, Breeders, Priestesses, and Wanderers. They are as reviled as they are worshipped, a commodity any man must pay to touch. To touch a Whore, a man must sacrifice his riches. To touch a Breeder, a man must sacrifice his freedom. To touch a Priestess, a man must be chosen by the gods. And to touch a Wanderer may end up costing him his life.

There is only one rule in the Wasteland—survive.

Chapter 1

The drums pounded through her like a second heartbeat.

Kadira sat cross-legged before the great bonfire, her palm slapping against the tight skin of the drum cradled between her thighs as others beside her did the same. The Rites of Spring unfolded before her, the month of celebration where the goddess Ela ascended and took control of the seasons from her consort, the god El.

The days would be filled with peace and prosperity, where Clan Mutairi traded with Clan Duaij, Clan Tayi drank with Clan Jassim, and the nights would be filled with feasting and carnal worship, where fertility was rejoiced and all Wanderer clans set aside the pleasures of their feuds for a deeper ecstasy.

Naked bodies danced before the huge blaze, others twined together in the sand, the heat they created more than enough to stave off the cold desert night. A rough shout captured Kadira’s attention.

Two men and a woman writhed together not far from where she drummed, caught in the flickering amber light. The woman lay on her back, her legs braced against a man’s heavy shoulders as he sank his cock deep inside her pussy. Kadira recognized the other woman. Fatin, whom Kadira had faced over crossed blades before. A fierce warrior, and even fiercer in her passions now. Fatin caressed her breasts, plucked at the stiff nipples, a smile playing over her lips. The man impaling her groaned as the second man pounded hard into his ass, their flesh slapping together in counterpoint to the drums. The family tattoo on the back of the second man’s neck declared him a Jassim, son of the clan chieftain. Bachir was his name, though Kadira knew him only by his reputation in battle. Bachir’s long cock slid out, the shaft glistening in the firelight, and his teeth bared as he shoved back into his lover’s anus. The muscular buttocks of both men flexed as they moved, like a horse and rider in fluid gallop.

It was erotic to watch, mesmerizing, and heat suffused Kadira’s body, her pussy flooding with juices. Her thighs unconsciously clenched on the drum between them.

Ezra, yes! Fatin moaned, lifting her hips into every thrust.

Kadira shuddered at the sound of his name. The man in the middle, the eye of the storm. Ezra. Inventor, mercenary, warrior. Chieftain of Clan Haroun. People spoke of him with the kind of reverence reserved for ancient, wrathful gods. The woman beneath him screamed, clawed at his chest, arching as she came. He rode her through her orgasm, jutting into her with harsh precision until she was twisting against him, demanding he fuck her harder, make her come again. All the while Bachir rode him with just as much violent ardor. Kadira felt her nipples harden to tight buds, and it was all she could do not to stimulate her clit against the base of the drum. She wanted to come so badly she ached. Her skin was aflame with her longing, her heart thundering in her chest, her breath speeding to a quick pant.

Just then, Ezra turned his head and met her gaze, smiling as if he’d known she’d been watching and was pleased. She shivered, her nipples beading tighter. The way he stared at her made her uncomfortable, with an intensity in his golden eyes that caused her insides to clench in utter want. Always it had been so, since her first Rite when she had reached maturity, years ago. His grin turned wicked and he held a hand out, flicked his fingers in invitation.

Her body urged her to accept, to ease the need that built higher and hotter than the great bonfire itself. Her muscles shook with the effort it took to keep her seat, to keep her hands moving in smooth rhythm on the drum. Even if she had wanted to fuck him, she could not. As a kabu shaman, she had to remain purified until the end of the first week of Spring Rites, a time when it was her duty to mark those who had come to sexual maturity since the previous Rites, last fall.

But she was tempted beyond anything she had ever known.

Why Ezra should fascinate her, she didn’t know. She deliberately looked away, as though he were no more interesting than any of the other people coupling wildly in the night. She caught his frown out of the corner of her eye, but she refused to give in to the temptation he presented. He knew she was a shaman, knew she could not indulge in her desires yet. Did he think because she was not born a Wanderer, because she had trader blood in her veins, that she was not dedicated to her shamanic training? Anger sliced through her. How long would she fight the stigma of her birth? How many would she have to kill in battle, how many times must she prove her skill as a kabu practitioner before she was accepted? It was a blow to the soul to recognize that the answer was forever. The mark on the nape of her neck would always show she was born an outsider, that she had only been adopted into the Badawi clan.

She would never fully belong, and at the moment, she hated Ezra for pointing it out to her, for questioning her honor, for assuming she would break her vows for an orgiastic fuck with him.

Bastard, she hissed, and the drummer beside her startled and cast her a wary glance. There was no greater insult among the Wanderers. To be a bastard was to have no family, no clan, no honor. To be a bastard was to be nothing.

Rage made her jaw tighten, and she looked back at Ezra, more than ready to take her blade to his flesh and peel it away a strip at a time. She allowed herself the satisfaction of that fantasy for a few moments, knowing it would not happen. At least, not at a Rites gathering, and not while Clan Badawi was on good terms with Clan Haroun. But loyalties among the constantly warring Wanderers could change from one day to the next. She could only hope to let her dagger kiss his skin…soon.

Blinking, she was once again enraptured by the scene unfolding. She cursed herself under her breath, slamming her fist down on the drum, taking her frustration—sexual and otherwise—out on the defenseless instrument. Still, she was unable to turn away, was only thankful Ezra’s attention was focused on his lovers.

Bachir’s hips hunched forward, powering his thrusts. His groan was long and loud, his face flushing in the firelight, his eyes closing as an agonized ecstasy reflected on his features. He shuddered, arching once more, digging his cock even deeper into Ezra’s backside. Ezra reached over his shoulder, grabbing a fistful of the other man’s hair and held on while Bachir came. It was rough and wild, two ferocious animals mating.

Wrapping an arm around Bachir’s waist, Ezra flipped him neatly over his shoulder and tossed him onto his back beside Fatin. Quick as a striking snake, Ezra snapped his hands around Fatin’s slim waist and set her atop Bachir’s face. The woman arched, crying out as Bachir’s mouth opened on her sex. She ground her pelvis downward, pumping her hips in hurried desperation.

Ezra laughed, the rich sound floating through the air. Shoving Bachir’s thighs open, Ezra pierced the other man’s ass in a swift thrust. The thick muscles of Bachir’s body tightened, and he