Enemies

Hand clamped over his bleeding side, the Waban war leader, Hakan, stared down at the woman crumpled on the ground. Pain bit at him. In his mind, he repeatedly ran his spear through the reckless and foolishly brave creature who’d wounded him. If she’d been a man, he would have already killed her. Instead he stared at her long black hair caught in a tight braid that lay over the back of her neck.

The Otu were pale creatures with colorless hair and eyes that made him think of stagnant water. This creature’s eyes were closed, but he remembered staring into midnight. Her skirt had slipped up over her hips as he’d let her drop, and she lay on her belly with her head turned to the side, one leg outstretched, the other deeply bent so he had a clear view of her woman’s place.

Woman. Vulnerable and helpless.

Shaking off the unexpected reaction, he acknowledged his desire to touch her woman’s place and feel her softness, but he didn’t dare take his attention from the unequal battle. Also, he needed to see how badly she’d injured him. After assuring himself that no other Otu warriors presented immediate danger, he removed his hand from his side and looked down. He couldn’t be certain until he’d washed, but old wounds and today’s level of pain told him he’d barely be slowed down. Still, the small creature had come close to inflicting a mortal wound.

Angry at both of them, he shoved her with his foot. She looked boneless. No wonder, since he’d hit the side of her head with all his strength. Unless she was something other than human, she wouldn’t soon regain consciousness.

Instead of being proud of having vanquished someone obviously bent on killing him and his fellow warriors, regret nibbled at him. She’d had no chance against his greater size and strength.

The sense that he was being watched struck him, and he scanned his world. Another woman warrior lay nearby, her breasts rising and falling as if she’d been running. Then he spotted an Otu warrior who wore a tiger-teeth necklace that identified him as a war leader. This man stood apart from the battle, taking in not his fighters but the unconscious black-haired woman warrior lying at his feet. Trying to comprehend, Hakan stared back at the other man. Then his enemy yelled something he didn’t understand, and as one the Otu turned and ran away.

Abandoning the two female fighters.

“No!” he yelled when his warriors started after the enemy. “Let them go!”

“But --”

“We do not slaughter belly crawlers who nip at us like curs. They are not worthy of us.”

Doubtless Elder Palladin, who had long ruled the Waban, would love nothing more than to shed the blood of every Otu, but Palladin wasn’t here. As war leader, Hakan’s role and responsibility was to follow Palladin’s orders, but today he had no heart for the task. His life was about pitting himself against his equals in battle, not slaughtering a small band of overmatched and foolish foes. Other warriors might take pride in killing the helpless, but he never would.

Why had the Otu attacked? They’d sacrificed the freedom of the woman at his feet for no reason.

Although several warriors grumbled about revenge, they contented themselves with loudly recounting their bravery. Two Waban besides himself had been wounded, although none seriously, and were being tended to. Three Otu lay dead. Most of his warriors’ interest was focused on the two female Otu fighters. A quick assessment of the heavily bleeding Otu woman led him to believe she most likely wouldn’t live to see the morning, but he ordered her to be carried to a shady spot and her wound bandaged.

“You want to use her?” an older warrior teased. “If yes, you must do so quickly.”

“She is yours,” he shot back, knowing no Waban man would take advantage of a dying woman. Just the thought tightened his belly. While directing his men, he’d continued to stand over the striking, black-haired woman. The others had come close so they could study her and shake their heads at her strange coloring, but none made a move to touch her. His stance left no doubt that he considered her his.

His? Not once Elder Palladin saw her. And once that happened, she would wish she were dead.

I’m sorry. Brave as you are, you deserve a better fate.

Satisfied his men weren’t in any danger, he crouched before the fallen creature. Even before he brushed the hair off her cheek, he accepted reality. Yes, the woman was helpless. Yes, he’d vanquished her and would make her his captive in ways she would forever hate, but unless his elder gave permission, no one would bury his man spear in her. Palladin was ruler over all Waban men and the things men did. As such he rightly laid claim to every prisoner.

He’d want her as his slave whore and would consider her the greatest of prizes.

And Palladin would expect his war leader to prepare her for her role as a submissive and sex-hungry female.

Holding tight to his emotions, Hakan drew her legs apart and slid a finger along her slit. She felt moist and warm, alive and inviting. She didn’t respond to the touch, but she soon would.

Regardless of how he felt about the task, he knew how to change her. He’d do what was expected of him.

“How does she feel?” the older warrior who’d spoken before asked. “Like every man’s wish?”

Hakan looked up to see a number of warriors standing around, their expressions a mix of confusion and hunger. Of course they wanted her. That was the way of men, him included. Still, he concentrated on not revealing his arousal, succeeding because he’d had seasons upon seasons of burying what his heart felt beneath bravery and dedication.

“Soft,” he teased as he sampled her again. “In her prime.”

That garnered a collective sigh. Several warriors grabbed their man spears and began satisfying themselves. His own ached.

Sudden anger ran through him. He was a fighter, a Waban war leader! No mere female had ever weakened him or ever would! She was an animal, a prisoner, barely human, and certainly not his equal.

Maybe.

She stirred and sighed, the sound faint as a morning breeze. His manhood twitched. “Ropes,” he ordered.

Even though he sensed he was doing something emotionally dangerous, he continued to stroke her sweet, soft flesh while he waited for something to bind her with. She tried to close her legs, but her movements were without strength, and he easily kept his fingers in place, shifting position so he hid from view what he was doing. The men grumbled. The woman’s sigh became a barely audible chant. She started to move her hips.

“You are alive,” he muttered. “Ripe.” He allowed a fingertip to briefly slip into her tantalizing opening. “Today you are a flower bud. Before I am done with you, you will blossom and become a great and beautiful flower.” He slid his finger in again. “And you will hate me.”

And the lessons will test me in ways you will never comprehend.

He didn’t look up to see who had thrown the two pieces of rope at him. Instead, wondering if his captive was awake enough to know what was happening, he pulled her arms behind her and bound her wrists. Next he straightened her legs and tied her ankles, leaving just enough room that she could hobble. She gasped as he tied the last knot. The sound seeped into him, weakened him.

A moment later, he rolled her over onto her back. Waiting for her to awaken, he touched his side but barely noted the fresh, still-trickling blood.

Her black eyes flickered open, closed, open again. Watching slow understanding creep over her, he felt as if he had slipped inside her mind. After a while, the eyes of slave whores became like water at night, barely visible. They seemed to have no depth, as if their spirits had died. This time, his captive’s eyes screamed at him. Her fury and fire fascinated him. How different she was from the sex-dull and quiet women of his clan.

Unlike Waban females who spread their legs only because they had to, would this one meet him cry for cry and release for release?

“I am Hakan,” he said, using the common trade language that connected all tribes. “I am the Waban war leader, and you are my captive.”

No, her eyes insisted, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t move, yet he had no doubt she was assessing her bonds. Good.

“You cannot free yourself because I know what I am doing.” What tradition says I must. “Do not try.”

Do not tell me what to do, her eyes said. He’d never felt more hatred from a human.

Yes. You should hate me. “I will not kill you,” he said. “Maybe I should, so I can be done with you, but then you should have stayed home instead of joining the attack party.” Done with talking, he dropped to his knees beside her and pushed up her top, exposing her high, full breasts. One look and he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. Her glare intensified. Tradition dictated that he lay claim to her breasts and inflict pain so she’d understand, at least a little, the breadth and depth of his mastery. Instead, feeling as if he’d dropped into a quiet pool, he regarded the part of her that was woman. A woman’s breasts were soft and sensual. They responded to touch and helped bring a woman to the point where she wanted nothing more than to spread her legs. Keeping a slave whore hungry for a man spear took skill, patience, and dedication. He’d long wondered what he could accomplish, given time and inclination, with a fresh female captive relegated to use as a pleasure beast, but right now only her breasts interested him. That and the rest of her body.

On a woman warrior, breasts were little more than a hindrance, and if large enough, could get in the way of her ability to fight. Undoubtedly she’d learned how to deal with hers, although he was surprised she hadn’t bound them. Maybe she understood their ability to taunt and tease and distract a man. But not me. I refuse to allow you that power.

“These belong to me,” he said and grabbed the hard nipples between his thumb and fingers. At his touch, they became larger, even harder, as did his man spear. She shifted on the ground but didn’t make the mistake of trying to fight him. He’d have to remember her wisdom in such things. “Everything about you belongs to me.” Determined to make his point, he squeezed.

She sucked in a breath. Her eyes were like knives.

As he held her, his mind created another scene, one that spoke to his body while protecting his emotions. Now she stood with her arms wide and tied above her. Her feet too were bound, her stance so wide she could barely stand. He’d shoved a rope in her mouth so she couldn’t speak and had placed a rag over her eyes. Despite the gag, she moaned, no longer in hatred but because he was inside her. She hung on him, a tethered creature with sweat-slick flesh and sex muscles trying to swallow him.

Could he turn her into a hot and hungry slave whore? One who would follow after him even after he freed her, touching him, begging him to penetrate her, crying when he left. No other man would make her scream out her release. No other man would bellow from spilling his seed in her.

She’d belong to him.

And, maybe, he to her.

Unnerved because he’d never considered that a woman could have that kind of power over him, he retaliated by squeezing even more. Glaring, she bared her teeth but gave no other indication that she felt anything. She might still be regaining her senses and be too groggy to fully comprehend what was happening, but he doubted it. As a warrior, she knew the importance of constantly assessing her world. Remaining alert kept a warrior alive.

“Think about this, slave,” he taunted. He continued to lay ownership to her breasts but didn’t increase his pressure because he wanted her to concentrate on his words. And because, despite what he’d been taught, he didn’t want to hurt her. “In the morning, we will start back to where the Waban are staying. It will take days because we will hunt along the way. I will keep you tied to me, and if I have to leave you to hunt, I will make sure you cannot move. Do you understand? You are mine. Your body, your spirit belongs to me. I have become your spirit. If I choose to end your life, you cannot stop me. Your heart beats as long as I want it to.” The words threatened to catch in his throat.

She still gave no indication of what she was thinking. Confused, he pressed against her breasts, flattening them. Their fullness spilled out on either side of his hands.

“I will not use you against your will you.” No matter how much I want to. “That right belongs to my elder. But by the time I turn you over to Palladin, you will be begging me to take you. Whatever you think I might want of you, you will hand it to me.”

She started panting.

“Ha, you hear me, slave. Perhaps you do not yet believe me when I say I own you, but you will. You will.” Although he should have struck her so she’d remember his promise, he didn’t. Instead he let up on the pressure on her breasts. Her panting became less intense.

Studying her reaction, he wondered what it would be like to be under another person’s command. His breath quickened.

Enough! Unnerved by the momentary loss of control and angry but not knowing where to place his anger, Hakan grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. He’d barely given her legs enough freedom so she could stand, which forced her to briefly lean against him. After settling her feet, she straightened and glared at him. Wanting to see her more clearly, he released her and stepped back. Doubtless, his gesture said he didn’t have to hold her to keep her under his control.

Mine. Someone who cannot leave me. Who needs me.

Traders who’d come from far beyond the valley spoke of creatures like deer, only much larger, who could be ridden by those who knew how to tame them. At first the creatures the traders called “horses” fought their riders, but the riders kept them tied and tethered until the horses accepted their new lives. Looking at this woman made him wonder how long it would be before he could ride her. Her eyes said never.

“What do they call you?” he demanded.

She glared as he’d expected she would, since handing one’s name to the enemy was a sign of weakness and surrender.

“I am Hakan.” He thumped his chest. “Perhaps I will give you a name of my choosing, one which speaks of your captivity.”

She tried not to react. He saw evidence of that battle in her clenched teeth.

“Yes. You are mine, and I will rename you. But I will take my time. For now you are simply Captive.”

Her reaction was to straighten as best as she could. Some of the clans of the great and nurturing valley were known for their skill in making the land work for them, while others flourished because they were expert hunters. Still others traveled great distances while trading with those they met. He thought of those clans as prey because his clan attacked and plundered almost at will.

Old men spoke of a time when the Waban weren’t so warlike, but that had been before Palladin had come into power. And now that he’d located the Otu, Palladin had become obsessed with dominating the clan he considered his foremost enemy.

“You intrigue me,” he told his Otu captive. He made as if to touch her again. She sucked in her belly but didn’t make the mistake of trying to move. “Your coloring says you were not born to the Otu, but you are one of their woman warriors. I will study you, see what use you might have.”

Pulling her up had allowed her fighting clothes to fall back in place, hiding her sex and breasts. Instead of exposing her again, he decided to let her remain clothed so she could think about when and how he’d render her naked. Certainly his decision had nothing to do with the way his body reacted to hers.

Someone called his name. He started to turn, which caused his wounded side to protest. He indicated the cut. “I will have my revenge, Captive. You will pay for what you have done. Never forget that. You will pay.”



Standing straight and strong, Sora tried to let her enemy’s words roll off her. She hated him as she’d never hated another human. At the same time, she knew hatred weakened a person. A warrior overcome by any emotion risked his or her life. This Waban who called himself Hakan was deliberately taunting her. She had no use for hunters who killed simply because they could. Neither could she consider human someone who was determined to terrify a helpless prisoner.

But even as she accepted the weight of the ropes around her wrists and ankles, remembered his hands on her breasts, she acknowledged she wasn’t terrified. Maybe she should have been, but she didn’t believe he intended to kill her, at least not now, and now was all she had. This too-big man with muscles better suited for a big wild cat or bear spoke of strength superior to hers. Her head still throbbed from where he’d hit her. Still, she felt stronger than she had a short while ago. Despite that, it wouldn’t take much for him to reduce her to what he’d threatened -- a slave whore kept so on fire and sex-starved she cared about little else.

“Free me,” she taunted. “And I will show you what a real wound feels like.”

“A threat?”

“A promise. Are you afraid of me?” She spoke loud enough for the other Waban warriors to hear. “That is why you have tied me, because you fear me.”

“Ha! Maybe the time will come when I will let you try to make good on that boast,” he said as he clamped his hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. “But you have lessons to learn first.” He stroked her exposed throat. “I feel your lifeblood.” He showed her what he meant by pressing against the pulse there. “It would take so little to free that blood. Then what you have caused me to shed would be nothing.” He pressed again, threatening her precarious balance. “Think on that, Captive. I own your body. I own your life.”

Own you. Deep down inside, his words burned and clawed. She’d never loathed another human as she now did him, and yet her emotion wasn’t that simple. From the time she’d been chosen for the life of a warrior, she’d accepted responsibility for her clan’s safety. Her life came after theirs. Her role was to fight and protect, to take risks and perhaps die. She was never without her weapons and trained constantly. She slept and lived with other warriors, which meant she watched the rest of the clan, including the precious children, from afar.

But in a matter of moments, all that had been stripped away. Completely helpless, she’d saw herself as Hakan’s possession. He held her life in his powerful hands. Her body indeed belonged to him. Even more unnerving, this big man’s body called out to hers. It challenged and promised as the body of no member of her clan ever had.

Sudden, unwanted, yet inescapable hunger slammed into her. Even as she acknowledged the moisture between her legs, she surrendered to fantasy. She had a woman’s breasts, hips, and intimate parts. Men wanted those things. This enemy warrior might have rendered her arms and legs useless, but that didn’t give him all the power.

“Be careful of what you say, Hakan,” she taunted. “Only a fool touches a poisonous snake before he has beheaded it. Even then the fangs are dangerous.”

“Ah, but you are not a snake. You are a woman. Mine.”

© Vonna Harper, January 2012
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