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"It's okay, Luther. I'm finally yours. You can give in to your desire."
Tensing against me, he inhaled a deep, shaking breath. Then, with a fierce growl, he threw me to the bed, ripping the front of the silk undergarment open in almost the same movement.
Pressing his body over mine, his mouth found mine, and the slow, tentative kiss from earlier was long gone as he gave in to his wants. The force of Luther's need hit me like a wave of hot water and started churning inside of me like a waterspout. There was a split-second of automatic reaction where I nearly crashed that wave over him, drowning him in his desires and putting him at my mercy. But I remembered who it was above me and could only hazard at the fallout of doing that to a ruling body.
The problem was that I could barely draw breath under the onslaught of his passion. I'd been here before, unable to destroy the man above me. I'd chosen to drown myself, and it left me heartbroken. Maybe this time, it would save me.
Letting it go, I cried out. Luther's desire washed over me, through me, and swept me away to be lost in the physical joining of two beings. Pleasure, passion, and lust.
When I drew breath again, I was panting, hot within but cold without. Shivering, my skin was covered with beads of water. Opening my eyes, two large hands nearly encompassed my waist within their grasp. Running my hands around Luther's wrists then along his arms as far as I could reach from where I straddled him, I finally met his eyes.
Luther's face was a mix of emotions. Shock, joy, fulfillment, possession. What he'd revealed in the other room had been truth; his desire had whispered his long-held craving to me. Why couldn't he have disobeyed my parents and courted me? He could have saved me from so much pain.
A sob escaped my throat. Sitting up quickly, Saboa hugged me to his chest, holding me tight. "It's okay, Zira, let it out."
Thumping his back with my fists, I yelled and ranted against his hold, against what happened. "You killed my parents, you stole my freedom, and I still couldn't bring myself to harm you. I should hate you. Despise you for what you've taken from me!"
He didn't refute it, just held me so tight that I couldn't move in his arms. I wanted to hate him, but I knew my parents were at fault for their own downfall. Saboa was just opportunistic, taking what was denied him for years.
Hugging him tightly, I cried, my tears drenching his flesh in blue rivulets until my eyes ran dry. Exhausted from the outpouring of my emotions, I fell asleep, still cradled in his arms.
Wakingto a heavyweight sitting over my thighs and hips, I opened my eyes to the grey of first morning light. When I tried to roll from where I lay on my tummy, a hand pressed my shoulder back to the bed. "Stay."
"Luther?" I felt fear course through me.
"These markings, some look ancient, and others look fresh as if they were only inked yesterday. What are they?"
Breathing a sigh of relief, I relaxed back onto the bed, closing my eyes. "They are my natal scale. Every Avalonian is born with one. Some will only bear a few symbols; others will run half the length of their spine." I squirmed uncomfortably under his weight. "Luther, you're sort of a bit heavy."
He smacked my bum. "Stay still; I'm trying to read this."
Gazing over my shoulder, aghast by the smack, but Luther paid no attention, so I buried my head back in the pillow.
"I recognize a few of these. This one" –Luther touched the symbol that allowed me to dissipate in water— "it's your people's symbol for water. This one is your symbol for a knife, or blade, or sharp, something like that, and this one is love..."
"Desires," I corrected, cringing over the memory of nearly losing control of my own talent last night.
Brushing his fingers over several more symbols, Luther muttered to himself as he tried to puzzle out those he recognized. "You say you were born with these? So, why do some look freshly done?"
"Get off me, and I'll explain it as best I can."
Collapsing to the side of me, Saboa waited patiently for my explanation. His hand played along my spine while the other was propped to support his head as he watched me.
"When we are born, all the symbols are faded and can be barely legible. As we learn to utilize our abilities, the symbols come to life. Each time we activate a specific talent, it gives... what Cyran word would describe it? A blossa––a flare. So, those talents that you use the most will look fresher than those you never used or never learned to use."
"Genetic markers of what you'll be good at?"
"Basically. There are only two marks ever inked on true Avalonian skin." Rolling to face him, I took his hand from where it caressed my hip and placed his index finger to the star beneath my eye. "The pentagram is marked under our eye when we utilize our first ability. I was marked at six, my brother at five. The youngest age for activation before us was eleven."
Saboa's brows rose with interest.
"How many symbols did you see?" I asked.
"Eighteen."
"My brother bore seventeen. Our uncle, the King, wore fifteen and was known as the most powerful king in centuries."
Saboa concentrated. "Wait, you're saying it's abnormal to have this many symbols?" I nodded. "So, your brother would have been one of the most powerful men to ever rule your planet?" I nodded again. "And if you carry all this power, your offspring would be expected to…"
