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  Sahara’s fair complexion flushed as her knees rose to her chest. Tor sat up farther to be sure she knew he would watch her do his bidding.

  She painted two fingers with a line of lubricant. It was difficult in her position, but he’d snarled when she started to straighten her legs. Knowing what that meant, she remained as she was. Two delicate fingers circled the tight pucker of flesh.

  “Push in,” Tor directed when it became clear she would not on her own. “Both fingers. Now twist. If you don’t do this you’re going to be very unhappy in a few minutes. I will put on gloves and do it for you. My fingers are much larger than yours.”

  Sahara drew in a sharp breath but did as directed.

  “Good girl. Farther,” Tor encouraged her. “Now in and out. That’s my girl.”

  Tor picked up the packaged vibrator and remote. Tearing it open, he was careful not to touch the vibrator but took the remote and tested it. The vibrator buzzed in its packaging and Sahara paused to watch.

  “Do not stop unless you want to be buzzing across the flight pad in front of everyone there to see us off,” he threatened calmly, continuing to test each setting of the remote.

  Sahara continued in silence, the scent of her arousal intensifying. Tor examined the remote much longer than he needed to. Watching her work her opening in preparation for penetration was incredibly beautiful, and so erotic he had to concentrate on not trembling like an eager fool.

  “Enough,” he declared gruffly. “Put it in, Sahara. Do it quickly.”

  Sahara’s fingers were slippery. Just grasping the smooth dildo was difficult. Her first time following this type of command made her clumsy positioning it. Then pushing it into herself was a new experience and she didn’t rush.

  By the time Tor pulled her to her feet to begin dressing her, he would gladly have given up a limb to be able to fuck his woman right now and gain some relief for the burning rock pole his cock had become. It was possible he’d pass out if startled, blood to the brain was in short supply and he could only focus on one thing at a time. Focusing on the death of his homeworld was what it took to keep his hands off Sahara.

  Well, now he knew. The only thing that could keep him off Sahara when she was fully ready for him was global destruction. In the few minutes it took both of them to suit up in the required clothing, Tor had not regained any control of his blood supply and Sahara’s scent intensified.

  “What?” Tor asked softly. They were ready to go and she was pouring out Mist Lioness scent.

  “I’m nervous, embarrassed, proud of you, excited every time I look at you and think about that remote.” Sahara shrugged. “And for the first time in my life it’s okay to be what I am. I think that all makes me more.”

  Tor inhaled and allowed the instinctive possessive growl to build in his chest. Standing beside him, strapped into a combat flight suit, she was the fucking sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Knowing what this female was capable of made her even more beautiful. She could move faster than the eye could follow. Transform into a sleek, powerful lion with wings and didn’t need a communication device to talk to anyone. The female beside him was speed, power and intelligence in an elegant body that moved with animal grace.

  “I’m so damn proud of you right now.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “I know how hard this is for you, and instead of fear, you’re embracing the experience. Your courage humbles me.”

  Sahara put a hand to his lips. “Let’s get this over before I lose it.”

  Outside their door, Nearrid was waiting. His face was grim as he nodded to them and fell in step behind them. He was also dressed in full battle gear, armed and carrying a high-velocity repeater. Neither of them asked about the weapons. It was a precaution. Getting Sahara to the flyer might be tricky with this many warriors present.

  News of the mission had spread throughout the palace and surrounding city. When they stepped out of the private apartment wing, the wide corridors to the flight pad were lined with Leonor warriors. The three of them paused in surprise and then strode forward in determined step. What happened next could not have been foreseen.

  As they came abreast of the warriors, proud males dropped to one knee. Leonor warriors did not kneel before their own high king. A bowed head was a great sign of respect and grudgingly given in most cases. Behind them boomed full-throated battle roars as the warriors rose to their feet again.

  “What are they doing?” Sahara whispered.

  “This is not for me,” Tor told her quietly. “My people know you, little flower. You’ve been among them five years. They recognize the rare brand of courage walking past them while fully aroused means. They are honoring your modesty by not looking at you while still being here in support.”

  At the flyer there were no technicians to ready the vehicle. Pilots of the Death Angel unit stood at ready. The most feared wing warriors in the Allied Planets efficiently completed the manual work technicians normally did.

  Tor buckled in the pilot seat with ease. The first pilot of the Death Angel unit quickly briefed Tor. Flying the little battle star high enough to get above the storm would not be the problem. The risk was if the obelisk would let them near. To fly down the eye of the storm, they had to head straight down. Any deviation to avoid an attack would take them into the high winds, and though the vessel would probably hold together, the stress of the engine thrust combating the wind velocity would do damage. Having to fly out of the storm through it was risky. Instrument failure a given. Try to head for the coast because putting down quickly would probably be required.

  When they finally took off, it felt as if it’d been a long time since they left the apartment. In reality perhaps twenty minutes had elapsed. Going almost straight up to reach the upper atmosphere, Tor concentrated on the controls a few minutes.

  He didn’t need to do it. Her scent was thick in the small cockpit, but what was the point of having a remote to the dildo in his woman’s ass if he didn’t use it? Tor flicked it on the low setting.

  Sahara gripped her armrests and lifted off her seat. She couldn’t move far because of the combat restraints on both of them. They were flying in a gravity environment and having to maneuver sharply.

  “Oh no. Sit down fully,” he instructed.

  Sahara gingerly relaxed.

  “How does that feel?”

  She chuckled softly. “Can’t you tell?”

  “Mmm, I need to lick the cream out of your cunt then fuck it while your little toy works that ass.” Tor’s voice was the intimate growl she always drew from him. “What I wouldn’t give to point this thing into space, put it on autopilot and shred that flight suit.”

  “I know exactly what you wouldn’t give,” Sahara teased, but her voice was thick with invitation. “You wouldn’t give the life of your people’s homeworld. Turn it up.”

  “More? Little flower wants more? Damn, Sahara. How much of this do you think I can take?”

  “Apparently you can’t take anything right now.” Her soft laugh caressed him. “So give me more.”

  Tor pushed the control up another notch. “When we’re done with the tower you’ll get more,” he promised. “And if you use that flash business to avoid it you’ll feel the flat of my hand landing on pussy as I take that ass.”

  Sahara moaned as the vibrations in her body intensified. His promises of punishment did what he’d wanted them to. She wasn’t aware the moment they headed straight down into the eye of the storm.

  Chapter Eight

  There was no response from the obelisk as they neared it. Both of them were now watching it closely as the flyer slowed to land beside it on the frozen ocean. Tor shut off her little tormenter and then put the vehicle on standby. They might have to leave fast and he didn’t want to have to take a lot of time to lift off.

  “Ready to face the past?” he asked.

  “No. You?”

  “No. Let’s do it.” He flicked the seat restraints off. Sahara did the same.

  Around them there w
as an eerie calm. The storm wall appeared a solid barrier of whirling ice, but the storm eye was almost a mile wide. Beside them the obelisk towered in threatening silence. At its base where frozen waves clasped it, there were steps and then a raised rectangle that extended to the smooth wall of the obelisk.

  Outside the flyer, they headed for the steps. Sahara’s gloved hand slipped into his and Tor grasped it tight as they approached. Carefully mounting the ice-slick steps, they stood on top of the raised rectangle and examined the flat material of the structure’s wall. There was no opening, no visible seam in the material.

  “Say something to it,” Tor prompted.

  “What? Do you think it’ll listen if I tell it to behave?” Sahara wanted to know.

  “It’s a machine. Ask it a simple question. Something it can answer with a yes or no,” Tor suggested.

  Sahara faced it and frowned. “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing happened.

  “Hello in there! Are you broken?” she demanded louder.

  Still nothing.

  “How do we shut you off?” she yelled in frustration.

  In front of them at Tor’s eye level the surface shifted. Both of them stepped back. Words appeared. The material of the wall formed the words by raising the letter outlines. In sharp relief two sentences appeared. They were written in ancient Leonor Lion script.

  Tor read the words out loud as they appeared.

  “Death by Leonor Blade ritual is required. The life given opens the future.”

  There was silence between them as the old world crashed around them.

  “Are you sure?” Sahara had to ask.

  “Yeah.”

  Sahara scowled at the huge object. “Are you really that stupid?” She was yelling at it again. “What sort of idiot crap is that? Death for life? Nobody does that anymore, ya big, stupid rock!” She started kicking it as if that would get her point across.

  Tor picked her up and stepped off the altar top. “Stop, beloved. It’s only a machine. It can’t reason.” Holding her back to his chest, he let her kick and yell a bit more. The shock and anger finally faded.

  “What do we do?” Sahara asked at last.

  “What is required,” Tor responded without hesitation, putting her down on her feet. “As soon as it’s over, get back to the flyer. Sit in the pilot seat and flip the autopilot switch. I have it set to go straight up out of the storm.”

  “What?! You knew this would happen? You think your life is the one?” Sahara demanded.

  “It was logical to assume something like this might happen. Now listen to me. Do not hesitate over my body. You have to get out of here.”

  “No! Stop. What makes you think it’s not my life required, not Mist Lion blood to prove we have returned?” Sahara argued. “Besides, you can find someone else. My biology is the one that will not allow me to mate another. It’s much more logical that it should be me.”

  Tor pulled her into his arms. “Beloved, the statement is written in Leonor Lion script. It’s directed at me. If I choose to sacrifice you, nothing has changed on this planet. Why would an old Mist Lion weapon spare us? It must be my blood on that altar. The ritual it speaks of is one where a life is sacrificed to spare the clan from a deadly battle with another clan. It can only be done by the chieftain or it’s invalid. Do exactly as I say.”

  “No! There has to be another way,” Sahara argued.

  Tor smiled down into her sincere face. “I don’t think so. The device is very clear and very powerful. It didn’t respond to simple questions. It waited for the one question that was not simple at all. Think about it. It’s not malfunctioning. I suspect male Mist Lions are not as sweet as you. This weapon was programmed to defend female or possibly young Mist Lions from falling back into the hands of Leonor Lions. They even give us the opportunity to prove we have evolved. So be it. The choice is one any male would demand of a killer race. It is the opportunity only offered to warriors by warriors. It is mine to accept.”

  “No,” Sahara whispered as she looked into his face.

  “Yes,” Tor stated firmly. “This is how it goes and you must do exactly as I tell you. I will lie on the altar top.” He pulled a long knife from his boot. “Bring this down directly in my heart and then run like hell for the flyer and take off as fast as possible. There is no telling what this thing will do next and I want you out of here.”

  “I can’t.” Tears rolled down Sahara’s face.

  “You will, Sahara. This is important. You have to hold the blade. Look, I’ll help you, but you have to do it. It can’t be a suicide. That is a cowardly act in Leonor society. The most disgraceful thing a warrior can do and would break the ritual, making it invalid. Please, Sahara. Please,” he finished.

  “Oh Goddess.” Her arms circled his neck and she clung to him.

  Tor held her to him as he slowly sat on the altar then reclined with her lying on top of him. His arms tightened as, his lips in her hair, he told her what had been in his heart since the moment he’d seen her so long ago.

  “You are the vessel that holds my soul, Sahara. Biology has nothing to do with my inability to mate another. I will always be with you because you have my heart. This will not change when my body no longer exists. Forever my beloved, loved and cherished. I’m sorry to leave you alone so soon.”

  Sahara sobbed into his chest, her arms and legs clinging to him. “Take the knife and kneel beside me. You have to use your body weight behind the thrust to make it one quick slice. I’d really appreciate your not having to do it again.”

  She didn’t move. Tor gently grasped her arms and disengaged them. “Now, beloved. It must be now. Do not make this harder than it has to be.”

  The wind froze tears on her face. There wasn’t a lot of time before Sahara was unable to do what needed to be done.

  Sahara slowly moved to kneel beside him. Taking the knife in her gloved hands, she held it awkwardly.

  Holding her hands, he wrapped her fingers around the hilt properly. “Like this,” he instructed. “Hold it above your head. Go up on your knees. Bring your whole body down with the thrust. Drive it in right here.” He tapped his chest to show her. “Do it quick and don’t look at my face. Just turn and run for the flyer. Understand? If you do it right, I’ll live long enough to know if you obeyed me, Sahara. In this cold it will not hurt, I’ll just bleed out slowly. Don’t disappoint me, beloved.”

  Shaking her head, she knelt beside him. “I can’t,” whispered from her lips again.

  Tor grasped her fists around the knife. He knew what he had to do. She really couldn’t do the deed, and forcing her was sadistic torture. Her hand had to be on the blade but he’d do it for her.

  “Let’s go over it,” he said quietly.

  “I love you. So much,” Sahara whispered in a trembling sob as he raised her hands, the knife held between them as he gripped her hands around it.

  Tor paused as she looked into his eyes. “I know, beloved. Now remember, you will turn and run for the flyer.”

  She was nodding when his hands tightened and powerful arms jerked her hands down, thrusting the blade deep in his chest.

  Sahara froze in shock. His hands squeezed hers gently and released them. “Run,” he gasped around the pain.

  It was already too late. The darkness closed in around him. Yet he felt her with him. Not just her body, her soul somehow. That wasn’t right and he struggled for consciousness, gathering the strength to shove her way. She must live!

  His thoughts were slow, disjointed. The cold. It should happen slower. Where was Sahara?

  Chapter Nine

  Salt air. Strange. The afterlife was a seaside place? He heard waves pounding the shore. Tor dug fingers into the sand beneath them and marveled that he could feel those sensations as if he had a regular body.

  Opening his eyes, he gazed up into a blue sky with huge white clouds floating across it. Not what he’d been expecting. Scents of the ocean, texture of sand, and a delicate moan beside him.

&nb
sp; What? That moan was too familiar and Tor shot up to a sitting position, glaring down at the body beside him. This was not the deal he’d made. It was only supposed to be him in the afterlife.

  Her eyes opened and gazed at him blankly. Suddenly understanding lit them and Sahara sat up, reaching for him. Her hands grasped the material covering his chest and seemed to be clawing at it.

  Looking down, Tor realized there wasn’t a rip where the blade had entered his chest. Sahara’s nimble fingers were now unfastening his flight suit. Pulling it apart, they both looked at clean fur covering his pectorals. There was no sign of blood. No white ribbon of fur marking a scar.