Lycan's Surrender Read online

  Lycan’s Surrender

  Jaci Burton

  Dedication

  For all those who have fought for freedom, I thank you and dedicate this book to you.

  And for Charlie, who is my warrior, my king and my love.

  Chapter One

  The Planet Czeralion

  Lycan, King of Raynar, stood over the carnage. Bodies littered the arid, desert landscape. The battle had been fierce, moreso because they’d run into two different clans.

  Some of those that lay dead on the hard, unforgiving ground were female. That could not be helped.

  He whirled at the sound of a moan, realizing a woman at his feet still breathed. He remembered this one. He thought he had killed her, even though he had not sliced through her, merely bashed her helmeted head with his sword

  “Is she dead?”

  Lycan shrugged in response to Tor’s question. He knelt and bent over the unconscious woman, placing two fingers on the side of her neck. “She has a pulse.”

  “Too bad.”

  Lycan frowned at his best friend. “We’re taking her back with us. Check the others. See if anyone else is alive.”

  Tor frowned, his expression filled with anger. “She tried to kill you. Why don’t you just finish her off?”

  Why, indeed? If she were any other warrior, she’d already be dead. But women were protected in the kingdom of Raynar. Though she wasn’t of Raynar, she was still female and would not be intentionally harmed.

  Besides, it was his blow that sent her to the ground. While perfectly acceptable to defend himself against an attacking female, there was nothing noble about running her through while she lay helpless on the ground. “I’m taking her back.”

  With a sigh of disgust, Tor turned on his heel and mounted his balon, giving orders to the other warriors to search the bodies for signs of life. Tor’s furry beast let out a howling cry, its blue horn pointing toward the sky. Tor pulled on the reins and galloped away, leaving Lycan alone with the woman.

  He pulled off her helmet and checked her head for other injuries. She was a mess, her hair tied back in some kind of braid and filthy with the dirt of battle. Her leggings and arm braces were torn and she stunk to high heaven.

  With hands more gentle than he should use on an enemy, he lifted her and climbed easily onto his black balon, positioning the female in front of him so he could hold her in place. Her head dropped against his chest and he wound his arms around her. The animal let out the same piercing wail as Tor’s, then took off at a fast run at Lycan’s command.

  The ride back to Raynar was long, and yet the woman had not regained consciousness by the time they arrived at the gates. He lifted her off the balon, ordering his aide to dispatch the physician to the chambers next to his bedroom.

  The woman was feather light, her slight frame like a child’s. But her body was that of a woman. Her breasts were plump and full, as evidenced by the peek of cleavage displayed through the tattered laces of her thin shirt.

  Lycan kicked the door open to his chamber and walked through to the second bedroom. He deposited the woman in the center of the silken coverlet.

  Still no response from her. He reached for her throat again and found her pulse still beating steady.

  “You called for me?”

  Lycan turned at the question from Dar, the royal physician. “Yes. This Dognelle woman has been injured and has not regained consciousness. Look her over. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Dar nodded and bent over the woman, quickly untying the laces of her shirt. Lycan tilted his head to the side and watched, enjoying the exposure of one side of a creamy breast.

  Lingering was unnecessary and yet he couldn’t seem to turn his eyes away from the slow unveiling. Dar would report his findings when he finished examining the woman. Besides, Lycan needed a bath and a change of clothes. Seven days out in the heat and dirt and he probably reeked worse than the woman.

  He entered the dark, paneled bath chamber, waving off the concubines who came to greet him. The smell of cedar filled the air, reminding him of swimming in the lakes as a young boy. Stripping off his clothes, he sighed deeply at the welcoming sight of the steaming water. The turquoise pool was large enough to fit a dozen, but right now he was in no mood for female company.

  Sliding into the warmth, he laid his head back and studied the skylights, open today to let the warm sun inside.

  Tor joined him, cursing his way into the room.

  “Damn women,” Tor muttered, stripping quickly and sliding into the water. “You need to have them serviced by the guards or some of the other staff members while we’re gone. I can no more step foot in the palace than ten of them are on me.”

  Lycan laughed. “And you’re complaining? You love them all and you know it.”

  A half smile curled Tor’s lips. “Maybe. Right now I’m just tired. I want to sleep until morning. Alone.”

  Lycan knew how Tor felt. His muscles were sore from hard riding and equally taxing battles. They had already spent three days fighting warriors from the Centuri Kingdom when they ran into the Dognelle on their way back home.

  Dognelle, while female, were well-trained warriors. Killing women went against everything Lycan believed in, yet he had no choice when they’d come upon them. Warring with the Dognelle was no different than with any of the other clans. Raynar was one of the richest kingdoms, sitting on top of prime land that any one of a hundred clans wanted to possess.

  The Dognelle had chances to merge with the Raynar kingdom, and had steadfastly refused to join them. Instead, they made war on Raynar just as Centuri did.

  “Sometimes it seems like we’ve been at war since the day I was born,” Lycan murmured, staring into the rippling blue water.

  “We have been. Since we were old enough to wield a sword and mount a balon, we’ve been warriors. Before that, we played war, then trained for it. It’s our life, Lycan. We have to defend what’s ours.”

  Heaviness weighed on Lycan’s soul. “I realize that. I just wish we could have peace.”

  Tor snorted. “Peace? With who? The Dognelle? I’d just as soon slice off my own dick than lie down with those heathens.”

  “They’re just women,” Lycan muttered.

  “They’re barbarians. Probably cut our throats, or even worse, while we slept.”

  And one lay unconscious in the chamber next to his. Maybe he should sleep with his sword tonight.

  After he bathed, he dressed in buff leather pants. When he returned to the secondary chamber, Dar had finished his exam.

  “She has a lump on the head, which is why she is sleeping. I don’t find any of her bones to be broken, or any internal injuries. She’ll most likely wake in the middle of the night. Give her water and nothing more until morning.”

  Lycan nodded and stared at the woman. She looked so small in the middle of the giant bed. He stepped closer, wrinkling his nose as he drew near.

  “Damn, woman. You really need a bath,” he said, scowling at her as if she could hear him. He turned and stalked away, determined to ignore the presence of the smelly creature in the room He had more pressing details to attend to than watch over someone who should be sleeping with the balons, not in a silken bedchamber.

  * * * * *

  Starr woke to an unfamiliar sensation beneath her. Soft, sweetly scented silk bunched under her fingers.

  Where the hell was she? She bolted to a sitting position, wincing when a sharp pain knifed inside her head. It was pitch black, but no stars overhead. No blistering hot dirt under her body. She was inside, but inside where?

  The last thing she remembered was fighting the Raynar, clods of dirt spraying from the hooves of the balons and mixing with the spit of flying steel as sword hit sword. She remembered a dark presence bl
ocking the sun from her eyes. A Raynar warrior had come at her wielding his sword over his head. Then her world went black.

  Until now. She shifted to the side, feeling her way to the edge of what she assumed was a bed. She couldn’t be in the Dognelle kingdom as her people didn’t own fabrics like this. Rough, scratchy wools and linens made up their stiff-boarded sleeping beds, not silk as soft as rainwater.

  Raynar. She was in the Raynar kingdom, she’d bet her last dracol on it. But how, and more importantly, why? By rights she should be dead now. If she’d been struck by the Raynar warrior, he’d have run her through. She’d seen many of her warriors lying lifeless on the ground, something she’d mourn the rest of her days.

  Why could there be no peace? Why should Raynar have everything when her people had nothing? Where was the equality in that?

  Because of that monster, Lycan of Raynar, her people were dying. His refusal to share the kingdom’s goods resulted in many of the surrounding clan going to war to eke out what little resources were available on this godforsaken planet. And yet Raynar’s people lived the life of luxury, judging from the soft, silken bed she’d just slipped out of.

  Oh, he’d offered to open up the gates of Raynar and take in the Dognelle. But no woman in Raynar was free, and no Dognelle woman would agree to become a slave just to wear fine clothes and have plentiful food. They’d rather starve in the desert than live under any man’s rule.

  Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she could make out faint shapes in the room. Why was she in this room, not even chained, instead of their prison? None of this made sense, but she wasn’t going to stay here long enough to find the answers.

  She’d kill whoever got in her way, but she’d make her way back to Dognelle tonight.

  Starr spied a tall vase sitting on a pedestal, and shuffled slowly toward it, her toes sinking into the thick rug in front of the bed. Her fingers closed over the bottom of the vase and she lifted it.

  Heavy. Perfect to clout a hulking Raynar over the head.

  She froze at the sound of creaking floorboards in the next room. A light shone through the crack in the door. Starr hurried into position next to the door, hoping that whoever came through didn’t see her lurking there before she had the chance to split their skull.

  The light brightened as the door opened, and she hefted the object, prepared to strike.

  Suddenly the vase was pulled from her hands and a pair of strong arms circled her waist, squeezing the breath out of her. The stranger pulled her against his massive chest and she was roughly pulled through the doorway. She squinted in the bright lights, trying to fight off whoever had a death grip around her middle.

  “Let go of me, you fucking barbarian! I can’t breathe!”

  He whipped her around so her back rested against his chest. “Good. Now listen to me,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.

  “You have nothing to say that I’d be interested in hearing.” She leaned as far forward as possible, giving her leverage to kick her foot up to smash against his balls. But he countered by shoving one strong thigh between her legs.

  She struggled, and she was by no means physically weak. But her strength was no match for the Raynar warrior. Finally, she gave up, sucking in a huge gulp of air when he relaxed his grip. He turned her around and held on to her shoulders. She glanced up and finally got a good look at the beast who held her.

  Only he was no beast. Broad shoulders were centered by a wide chest covered in a dusting of dark hair. His narrow waist and slender hips rested on well-muscled thighs encased in very tight leather breeches. He was so tall she had to tilt her head back to see his face.

  Brilliant blue eyes shone from sun-darkened skin. Raven black hair surrounded his face.

  By Lal’s halos, he was gorgeous.

  While she was filthy and smelled like balon shit. And why the hell did she care? She never noticed men, didn’t care for them, had never had a man and had no intention of lying down with this one.

  Clearly, she’d suffered a head injury of sorts. What else would make her react this way to the heathen in front of her?

  “Are you quite though ogling me?” he asked, amusement dancing in his wicked smile.

  “I never ogle,” she said. Not until just now, anyway.

  He let go of her arms and walked over to a table against the wall. She eyed him warily while plotting her escape through the double doors on the other side of the room.

  “Don’t bother,” he said nonchalantly, his back still turned to her. “There are guards on the other side of the door.”

  “Do you read minds?”

  “No. You’re just obvious.”

  Bastard.

  He turned and approached her, holding out a cup. “Drink this.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Not for a Kingdom’s jewels. You stink.”

  Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks and she was thankful for the dirt covering her face. She couldn’t even tell him he smelled just as bad because he’d obviously bathed. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to primp in advance of our meeting,” was all she could manage.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Drink this. It’s water. The physician said you suffered a head injury and you were to drink water when you woke.”

  She eyed the glass suspiciously. No way was she going to drink some liquid that could be poison.

  Until he took a sip, then held it out to her. She licked her lips, barely able to swallow from the grit scratching her throat. The urge to take the glass from his hands and gulp down its contents was nearly overwhelming, but she’d be damned if she’d accept anything from him. “I don’t want any.”

  He shrugged and set the glass on a table next to them. “Suit yourself.”

  She was dying for a drink, nearly ready to pass out from the thirst, but she’d never show weakness to this barbarian.

  “I’ve also ordered a bath for you.”

  He walked toward the door and opened it, whispering something to the guard standing there. While his back was turned she grabbed the glass, gulping the liquid so quickly some of it dribbled down her chin.

  A bath. She’d give her right arm for a bath right now. “I don’t need a bath.”

  He closed the door, then walked toward her again, stopping inches away from her. Arching a brow, he sniffed loudly. “Oh, hell yes you do.”

  Well aware of how she smelled, she crossed her arms, defiantly lifting her chin. “You can’t force me to bathe.”

  His height towered over hers. She’d never considered herself small. But next to this warrior, she felt like a child.

  “I can force you to do whatever I want you to, and you will obey.”

  She sneered at him. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for one of your concubines. I am a free woman, not a slave.”

  “Not any longer. You are in the Raynar kingdom now, and as a female that puts you under our protection. Whatever freedoms you enjoyed before are gone.”

  She pushed aside the fear that knifed through her at the thought of her freedom being taken away. “Then run me through now. I’d rather be dead than be a slave to any man.”

  He tipped her chin with his finger. She refused to pull away, daring him to treat her like one of the many concubines known to exist in this kingdom. “What is your name, woman?” he asked.

  “My name is Starr, and I am Queen of Dognelle. You will return me at once to my people.”

  His eyes widened for a moment, and then he laughed. “You are no queen. No leader of people could be a slight little girl with more dirt than weight on her.”

  This lower than scum warrior would definitely have to die. And soon. “Bring me before your king. I want to discuss terms of my release.”

  The tall warrior’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms, widening his stance. The position made him appear all the more imposing.

  “I am Lycan, King of Raynar, and there will be no discussion of your release. You are my captive, my slave, and I’ll do whatever I wish with you.�
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  Starr let her eyes drift shut for a second, praying to the gods that this wasn’t true. This man, this savage, lived a comfortable life behind his opulent walls while the people of Dognelle went hungry. Ending his life would be her greatest wish.

  “I’ll battle you for my freedom,” she offered. “Give me a sword.”

  She was confident enough that her skills would outmatch whatever strength he possessed. He may be taller and more muscular than her, but he was no match for her speed and agility.

  “I’m not battling with you again. Look what happened the first time.”

  Her eyes widened as his words sunk in. He was the one who’d struck the blow to her head. And yet, he hadn’t killed her. Why? The question burned inside her, but she refused to ask.

  “Besides,” he added, “you’re nothing more than a child.”

  A child, indeed. Who did he think he was dealing with?

  “You think I’m a child?” Her bravado returned in a rush of anger. She circled him, eyeing his body as she would prime balon flesh. “You’re just intimidated at the thought of battling with a woman. Afraid you might lose?”

  He laughed heartily, the sound booming off the walls of the chamber. “You can’t be serious. I ‘d drop you instantly.”

  Hands on hips, she challenged him. “Shall we give it a try?”

  His eyes gleamed at something over her shoulder. “Later. I’m afraid the smell of you might kill me.”

  Before she could object to his insult, two Raynar warriors stepped into the room. Lycan pointed to her and said, “Take her away and give her a bath. Return her to me when she’s clean.”

  The men grabbed her by the arms. She fought, kicking and clawing, but it was of no use. She couldn’t match their physical strength. At least not until she’d lulled them into thinking she was cooperating. Then she’d strike.

  As they dragged her down a darkened hallway, Starr swore she’d exact revenge on Lycan of Raynar. When she escaped, she’d leave with his blood on her sword.

  Chapter Two

  “Begging your pardon, my king, but there’s a disturbance in the bathing chamber.”