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

rise and fall beneath the cotton. Her nipples were erect. They weren't when he'd begun playing; he'd noticed, before closing his eyes and shutting her out. But now he saw the tips poking brazenly through the cloth, right at him. Had his music done that?

Khial turned from her. He set the violin against the side table. Then he turned back to his lover and pulled the blanket over Dain, who slept peacefully. Chanyn pulled up the end on her side of their bed. She brushed a curl out of Dain's eye. Dain sighed but didn't wake.

"You love him, don't you?"

Conflict etched on her face as she looked between himself and Dain.

"The monk," Khial clarified.

She took a steadying breath and then met Khial's eyes. He thought she'd deny it. Now that Dain offered her a fortune, a fortune she need do little to earn. Sleeping with Dain was a joy, Khial would know. He'd done the research and written the definitive study on the subject. She need only lay on her back, enjoy the ride, and then soon there would be no ties. When Dain... left, Khial certainly wouldn't be sticking around as her mate. So, yes. Khial expected she would definitely deny her love for the hound.

Once more, the Lady Chanyn failed to meet Khial's expectations. She squared her shoulders. "You're going to say it’s too soon. Or that it’s impossible for us to be together."

Khial regarded her from across the bed, Dain lying peacefully between them. "I knew that Dain was my mate at first sight." He mirrored her squared stance. "As for impossible to be together?"

Khial paused. She hadn't run thus far. Not from Dain's grasping family, whom she'd have to now contend with if she got with an heir. She didn't run from Dain's illness. If she didn't run from this last piece to their warped puzzle, Khial just might have to give to her, her fair due.

"I'm fairly certain my mother had Dain's parents killed. That is after she drove my fathers to kill one another."

Chanyn's eyes went owl-wide, but her feet stayed rooted.

"My mother was the last descendant of the royal family of the Africas. Most of my life I've seen people look at me out of the sides of their eyes, wondering when I'll snap like she did." He gazed down at the man who never cut him a side eye. "Her blood is my blood. Whatever madness she was born with runs through me. Yet every night, he sleeps soundly in my arms." Khial stood silent, waiting for Chanyn's response.

"So, that makes you a prince?"

Khial laughed at the unexpected remark.

Chanyn grinned.

Dain stirred.

They both waited in silence until Dain settled. Then Khial considered the Lady Chanyn once more. "You don't scare easily, do you?"

"What should I be scared of? Each of our parents made bad choices. None of us are following in their footsteps. I can see that you don't like me, but I don't think you would harm me."

Her look at him was defiant, as though she challenged him to prove her wrong. And finally, Khial gave up the battle to dislike this strong, proud creature.

"In answer to your first question," he said, "I think that anything's possible. Maybe you and your monk can have your happily-ever-after one day."

"You don't want me, do you?"

Khial looked at the proud tilt to her chin. Her arms crossed over her chest, plumping up those full breasts. The nipples pointing right at him, shining a light on the truth hardening in his pants. He saw a hint of thigh at the slit in her dress. Finally, he looked back into her eyes.

"You're right. I don't want you in the bond," he said. "I resent you trying to step in and be the hero to my love story."

She surprised him again by nodding in understanding. "I don't want to disrupt your story, Khial. But I do want to help. Dain's my friend. He's my only friend. I don't want him to die. But if that can't be helped, I want to grant whatever his wishes are."

"I don't care about his money."

"Neither, do I."

They paused and regarded each other from opposite sides of the bed.

"So, what are we going to do?" she asked.

Khial shrugged. He'd been trying to puzzle that out since before she got here a week ago. He was no closer to an answer of his own. She was going to have to come to her own conclusions.

"Why don't you have a talk with your monk. He'll be here tonight."

13

It still surprised Jian that he was received into the house. The manservant, he'd learned his name was Rianald, gave Jian a slight bow of deference. As a third son, receiving the deference of a bow was something he never thought possible. Only his eldest brother, the first-born son and thereby lord, obtained that respect.

Jian had seen his eldest brother a few times walking the street. The two men could have been twins, they so resembled each other. The one time Jian left the temple without his robes, that time he went to her to run away and elope, he'd been mistaken for his brother.

At the time, Jian thought it a sign. A good sign. He would be accepted into polite society after his bonding. Perhaps he would walk the streets with his brother instead of his brother pretending not to know the man with whom he shared a face and blood. Later that fateful day, Jian trudged back to the temple covered in mud. The same people, who earlier recognized him as his brother, gasped and then burst into laughter, pointing and jeering.

It was the last day anyone bowed to him.

Rianald straightened and let Jian pass. "Lady Chanyn is in her room, Brother Jian."

Jian made his way up the staircase. He adjusted the folds of his robes, ran a hand down the planes of his shaved head, and licked his dry lips. He felt watched.

On the wall hung a portrait, a radiant blonde woman embraced