a Pleasure Rites, #1 by Ines Johnson (top ten books of all time TXT) 📗

from the heroines of her twentieth century romance novels and prepare the meal. Food was the way to a man's heart; she'd read that over and over again.

Chanyn took her dagger and began skinning the boar.

"What's a female doing out in the Wasted Lands, alone?" Dain asked. His eyes queried Chanyn as he tightened the bandage on Khial's leg. The blood didn't seep through the bandage, a good indication that the wound would close and heal quickly.

When he finished, Dain came closer to Chanyn as her knife made steady work of the skin on the boar's hide.

Dain reached his hand out for the knife. "This is no work for a woman."

Startled, Chanyn glanced up. This had always been her job. Hunting fresh meat for her mother. Tending the garden. Preparing all the food. Scouting for supplies in the ruins. Her mother never once extended a hand to help.

Dain's eyes were both earnest and eager. Chanyn handed over her dagger. With strong hands, but clumsy fingers, Dain took up the skinning.

Chanyn watched the play of his muscled arms. They weren't as big or defined as Khial's, but they were lovely just the same.

"My name is Dain," he said.

"Dan," she repeated. The word came out rough on her ill-used tongue.

Dain looked up, joy etched into his sculpted face. "Yes, that's it. And that's Khial."

Though leery of the way her voice sounded, Chanyn tried the other man's name. "Kyle," she grumbled.

Dain let out a gleeful laugh and looked back at Khial. I taught it to talk, his grin said. Khial looked none too impressed.

"And you? What's your name," Dain asked.

Chanyn took a deep breath and told him her name.

"Shannon?" Dain tried.

Chanyn nodded liking the way her name sounded on his lyrical tongue. She wished she had more names, as women in her books did. First, middle, and last names. But last names denoted which patriarchal lineage you belonged to, and men no longer ruled the world.

"Are you here alone, Chanyn?"

"Yes," Chanyn nodded, enthused now that the power of speech had returned to her. Then she froze as she caught the glint of the dagger in Dain's hand.

Stupid girl, she chastised herself. She couldn't remember the story of the heroine who gave the big strong man, who just happened to have broken into her home, her dagger and then told him that she was all alone with no hope of rescue. No, she couldn't remember that story, because that heroine never lived to tell her tale.

Dain's hand stilled in its motion of slicing the boar's hide. The enthusiasm drained from his face as he watched her expression change.

"You know, Chanyn," he said. "I'm not as good at this as I thought." He turned the dagger around so that the blade faced his gut and the blunt handle faced her. "Perhaps you should take over once more."

Looking into transparent green eyes, Chanyn took the dagger back and began skinning once more. Dain continued his line of questioning.

"How did a woman come to be alone in these ruins?"

"I wasn't always alone. My mother was here with me."

"And she is no longer?"

"No. She is no longer."

Chanyn allowed the weight of those words to sink in. Her mother returned to the Goddess five months before. In the months since, Chanyn debated whether or not to leave the ruins. She possessed no conveyance. The vehicle she and her mother arrived in nearly two decades ago had long been defunct. Chanyn wasn't certain which direction to travel. Her mother would never tell her exactly where they were located, nor from which direction they had originated. Her mother had never wanted to go back and, while she lived, Chanyn had no choice in the matter.

"How is it that there are no men to protect or provide for you?" Dain asked.

Chanyn shrugged. Her mother had an absolute distaste for men and preferred to live in solitude than anywhere near the foul creatures. All her life, Chanyn heard tales of the horrors of men. Men caused the wars that killed millions of people centuries ago. And worse, men upset the delicate balance of the ecosystem that put holes in the sky, caused the waters to rise, and brought on Mother Nature's wrath.

Everything was men's fault, Chanyn's mother insisted.

Chanyn spent much of her time in the non-fiction section of their home and learned the truth of much of her mother's words. Men did cause untold destruction on the world. Destruction, her mother told her, that it took women centuries to set right. But men hadn't always been that way. Men had been capable of great love.

At night, Chanyn would crack open novels from the fiction section, a section of their home her mother paid no attention to. Between the covers of those banned books, Chanyn learned different tales of men. Gallant men. Chivalric men. Alpha men. Beta men.

Chanyn looked up into Dain's kind eyes. He'd thought she was an angel. It was the way many of her romance novels began. The lovers would see each other from across a crowded room and there would be a spark.

That's what she was feeling now. A spark.

"Dain," Khial called from across the room. "The sun's going down. We'll need to be leaving soon."

Chanyn's heart sped up again, as though danger were approaching. "You can't leave," she protested. "It’s not safe to travel at night." She pointed to the boar that was now relieved of its skin. She saw that the door remained opened.

Chanyn leaped up and closed the door, pulling the bar in place that locked it. It was for all their safety, of course.

She turned back and faced the men. "This beast was nothing compared to what's out there in the darkness."

Khial glared. But it wasn't his attention Chanyn was after. She looked to Dain.

"Thank you, Lady Chanyn. We are honored to have your hospitality and the safety of your domicile." Dain smiled.

Chanyn's heartbeat slowed and nearly came to a halt. The halt, she determined, was her heart skipping a beat.

2

Khial looked around at