Joely Sue Burkhart

I’ll do one last snippet from Rose.  Unfortunately, I can’t share snippets from what I’m writing now (book 2, The Road to Shanhasson) without giving spoilers to the first book in the series.  I do have an idea for a prequel starring Gregar that I might work on and share as I write it.  Are you sick of me talking about him yet?

Seriously, he is my Muse.  He haunts me.  To be perfectly honest, he often scares me.  He has no limits, and he’s a bit of a masochist as you’ll see in this snippet about 1/3 of the way into Rose.

Setup:  On the ride to the Plains, Shannari’s thrashing wakes Rhaekhar up in the middle of the night.  No longer breathing and unable to awaken, she’s trapped in a nightmare of Shadow.

“How can I help her?”

Gregar tucked his ivory rahke into her hand. “She needs a weapon. And she needs to bleed.”

“Nay,” Rhaekhar whispered, his entire body shaking.

“It is best if you do it, Khul.” Gregar met his gaze. His mouth twisted in that trademark smirk, but agony glittered in his dark eyes. “I would draw too much.”

She went rigid, her body vibrating from head to toe.

“Hurry, Khul.” Gregar’s voice softened and a dreamy peace smoothed the pain from his face. He cradled her hand gripping the rahke in both of his palms and lifted the blade to his chest. “A little blood will be sufficient.”

Silently, Varne offered his rahke. Rhaekhar shook his head. “Mine.”

Another Blood appeared beside them, Khul’s rahke in his hand. Rhaekhar took his rahke and lifted the wickedly sharp edge to her fragile skin. He chose the scar over her heart, the scar he wished to obliterate. Closing his eyes, he whispered a quick prayer, and then made a small incision.

Light blinded him. For a moment, he couldn’t tell where it came from. The ivory rahke in her hand glowed like a captured star, shining in the night like a beacon. In the many years he had called Gregar friend, Rhaekhar had never seen such a marvel.

Shannari took a long, shuddering breath. Her eyes flew open. And with a low, vicious cry, she buried the rahke in Gregar’s chest.

#

The dark-haired Blood with the wicked smile fell forward slowly, the knife in his chest still in her hand. Horrified, Shannari tried to pull back, but his hands gripped hers in a vise, pressing the blade deeper.

He fell on her, staring into her eyes. No surprise, no reprisals, no pain. His gaze was heavy lidded, smoldering with desire, pleasure, raw hunger, death. Blood gushed from the wound, searing her skin.

“Thank you,” Gregar whispered, his voice thick. “You honor me.”

One of the other Blood she didn’t know gently lifted his weight from her and lay him on the ground beside her. Gregar never took his gaze from hers, even as the blade slid out of his flesh. No pain flashed in his dark gleaming eyes.

His chest glowed like the knife in her hand. Light pulsed in the wound, a liquid rainbow flashing in the night. Before her eyes, the wound closed until only a scar remained. A scar over his heart to match hers.

“Oh, Lady, I didn’t mean to—” Her teeth chattered so badly she could hardly speak. The knife dropped from her nerveless fingers and the light faded. “What happened? What did I do?”

Rhaekhar bowed his head against her chest, his arms squeezing her so tightly she made a small sound of pain. Immediately, he loosened his grip, but he didn’t raise his head. “You were dreaming. You stopped breathing, na’lanna. I couldn’t wake you.”

Shivering, she fought back the overwhelming horror of the dream. The nightmare tormented her often, but she’d never hurt anybody before. Then again, she’d never been so desperate before. Her stomach heaved. Rolling away, she barely avoided vomiting on the barbarian.

So sick, so scared. She could still feel thick, foul shadows writhing like snakes inside her. She could still taste rotting death. Shaking, she swiped a hand across her mouth, smearing her lips with Gregar’s blood.

His blood was still warm. The spicy taste on her lips washed away the foulness. So good, heating her stomach, chasing away some of the bone-chilling shadows deep inside. Before she could think, she slipped a finger in her mouth. Another. It shamed her how good his blood tasted. She truly was tainted, corrupted, ruined, just as the Nightmare had told her in the dream.

“Nay.” Gregar touched her back lightly. “As I said, Shannari, you honor me.”

“Too much,” Rhaekhar retorted. “What were you thinking? She could have killed you.”

While the two barbarians argued, Shannari staggered over to the pool and scrubbed the blood off. Her hands trembled. So much blood. Bad enough that she seemed to hunger for Rhaekhar’s blood. At least he professed to love her. But why on earth would Gregar’s blood tempt her?

“Are you well?” Rhaekhar asked, his voice low.

Turning slowly, she studied his face, trying to judge his emotions. The bond between them was quiet. He felt…careful. Hesitant. He didn’t seem angry or jealous, at least not now. Deep down, he seemed more resigned than surprised.

He should be furious. If tasting blood was a great honor to his people, then she’d just accidentally given great precedence to his friend.

Miserably, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason, na’lanna. I’m relieved that you survived the darkness you battled.”

Carefully, she stole a glance at Gregar on his left. He watched her, his manner oddly expectant. He seemed to suffer no ill effects from having had a knife buried in his chest. That didn’t make her feel any better. “How did you know?”

“Gregar felt the Shadow in your dream.”

Varne shifted uneasily on Rhaekhar’s right. His cheek was scored by what looked like her fingernails. When had she done that?

“Do you want to taste Varne’s blood too?” Rhaekhar asked solemnly.

Shaking her head hard, she quickly looked away from the glowering Blood. That’s the last thing she wanted to do. Gregar snickered, drawing her gaze to him again. Why were they acting so careful and strange? She’d stabbed the man, and they walked on eggshells around her. It didn’t make any sense.

After giving her another disapproving glare, Varne left, disappearing into the shadows around the pool.

“Why’s he upset? If anyone should be angry, it’s you two.”

“Varne has no sense of humor.” Gregar hunkered down in front of her and winked suggestively, his teeth flashing white in a wide smile. “I’m not angry.”

“I’m not angry either, na’lanna.” Rhaekhar watched her, then Gregar. He didn’t rant or rage. No fury flowed through the bond. If anything, he seemed to have accepted whatever hesitation he experienced earlier. “Do you want anything else from Gregar at this time?”

Suddenly, she realized she was stark naked. Chilly water or not, she scrambled into the pool and made a great show of washing. With her back to them. “Some clothes would be nice.”

The wicked Blood laughed again. “It’s an honor to serve, Shannari.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Gregar?”

Pausing, he faced her. Heavy and solemn, the night waited silently, shadows draping over his face. Again, she had that haunting sense of familiarity, of recognition. Some dark dream, forbidden, shadowed, blood and temptation.

“How did you know you wouldn’t die?”

His mouth quirked, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I didn’t.”

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 20th, 2008 at 8:04 pm and is filed under Friday Snippets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.