She opened her eyes to the sound of thunder rumbling across the sky. The rain and wind and the crashing of waves were a distant echo outside of the mountain. Anara blinked, staring off into the darkness above. Behind her, the fire crackled softly, its warmth radiating over the side of her face and over her which she had propped up onto the rim of the wooden tub.

She could lay here and sleep for the remainder of the night. Blinking her eyes wider, she realized she had fallen asleep. But for how long?

Lazily she turned her head, her eyes finding him there sitting atop a wooden crate. Dante leaned over, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he stared pensively into the fire.

A palpable excitement was in her stomach, her chest and… between her legs. Tracing the lines of his muscles with her eyes, she admired Dante’s arms and shoulders. Anara had enjoyed looking at him long before now. She noticed his form the first time she had laid eyes on him.

Now, her eyes followed his chiseled features which abruptly stopped where his breaches began. She almost felt disappointment to find that he was still clothed.

In her mind the Wind Steppe princess knew that she should not fall prey to this man. But her body—the other woman—wanted him in every way.

Dante must have known she had woken, because he said, “I haven’t been with a woman in over five years.”

Anara did not start to the sound of his voice carrying to her. He hadn’t raised his voice. He had no need to. The sounds of his words carried no matter where this man was.

“Why not?”

He took a moment before responding. But finally he did speak. “There was a great gathering of the noble houses…” he said.

She understood that he was telling her a story now.

“Most of the Amalfi royalty was attending, including my family and all but one of my siblings. As a fourth son of my house, attaining glory or honor is a hard thing to come by. So, as younger noble siblings do, we stop trying, and instead carouse through life.”

Similar behavior was common in the Wind Steppe. Except there, it was the opposite, since the youngest of a khan’s children were the inheritors of fortune.

“It’s much the same where I come from.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Dante nodded. “Well, to make a long story short,” he added, “I and some of my friends were very drunk—“

“Making asses of yourselves, no doubt.”

He seemed surprised she offered that tidbit on his behalf. He sniffed in amusement. “Of course. We came into the main banquet hall where some nobles were making toasts to the king and queen, swearing oaths. It was almost a game, it seemed.”

Anara knew where this was going.

“My older sister tried to stop me, but in my drunken foolery—so sure of myself at the time—“

“Naturally.”

“Naturally,” he agreed. “I had pledged that I would not return to Amalfi or lie with a woman until I had done my country a great service.”

“And you must stay true to your oath, having sworn it in the presence of all the nobility and even the royal couple.”

“Indeed,” he said, almost sullenly.

“I see,” she said, feeling disappointment.

She should use this against him—keep Dante from accosting her. It was only a matter of time before he would succumb to his lust for her. The other woman, had she been real, would have snapped viciously for being selfish.

“And now you intend to break that oath?” she asked, surprised at the harshness of her tone.

Dante visibly started. “Never.”

“It seems your crew has.”

“So it does. I held them on the path as long as I could, and now it seems that with their shirking of these sworn oaths, they have also turned to piracy as well. I’ll hunt them down—kill them, should they not surrender to me.”

“They’re your friends.”

He laughed.

“If they’re my friends, than I fear the day I ever meet my enemies.”

“So how is it that you pursue me even though you haven’t completed your mandate?”

“Have I not?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Iizuhlian khanate is the most powerful tribe of the Wind Steppe, is it not?”

Anara laughed. She tried to put as much derision as possible into it. “So I’m to be your prize, Dante?”

“Perhaps,” he said slowly.

She smirked. “I’m your booty.”

That almost made him laugh as he raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Figuratively speaking—yes.” Then sobering, he added, “I must take you to Amalfi.”

Anara regarded him for a time.

“If you can’t have me, certainly someone must.”

She tried to pretend she wasn’t looking, watching intently for his reaction when his head swung toward her. She let him watch her for a moment before almost lazily sweeping her own gaze toward him. His piercing eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched.

“Are you angry, Dante?” she asked sweetly.

He bolted from the crate, tall and imposing. The captain’s powerful form was beautiful, nearly stealing the breath from her lungs.

The Duke, she corrected. He was no longer a captain of anything.

Anara would have shrunk back in the tub from his aggressive behavior. Before… Now she wanted only to see the rest of him. To feel him inside of her.

“Do you seek to punish me, Princess? Why?”

“Because it’s what you deserve!”

His fingers curled. She could see him controlling his anger. So he was angry, she thought. Good.

“I see that you haven’t washed the sand out of my clothes,” she added imperiously, gesturing to her crumpled nightgown and scandalous undergarments. “And they’re still wet!”

Dante cocked his head, the incredulity in his stare completely evident. She also thought that he was baring his teeth behind his lips.

“Where do I sleep, naked and curled in your lap?”

He glanced down and chuckled, a frustrated bemusement turned to full on laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” she barked.

But he turned, waving her off as he disappeared into the darkness. Anara narrowed her eyes, looking after him in the dark as he brought out a rolled up rug. He tossed it onto the sand in front of the fire before unrolling it.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer her, went back into the darkness and returned with another rug. He tossed that one down atop the other. When he unfurled it, she realized it was a sky mammoth pelt, soft and spongy with its tufts of matted fur, the silken elegance of which was unrivaled by most pelts.

“It’s a start” she said, looking up at him as he approached her there in the tub.

The Wind Steppe princess thought he would yell at her, but instead he did something she did not expect.

She gasped, kicked with her legs as he reached under her arms and hauled her out of the water, none too gently.

Words escaped her as her eyes shot open, her heart jumping in her chest as her feet hung in midair.

“What are you doing?” she snarled, instinctually grabbing for his face, but his arms were too long.

She yelped has he tossed her backward.

As Anara landed harmlessly on the soft pelt, Dante came down with her, his heavy body on top of hers as he clamped her cheeks in a steely grip just shy of painful.

Shaking and unable to move under his large body, she could do nothing but make direct eye contact. “The fish does not goad the serpent,” he snarled through gritted teeth, his hand moving toward his belt. For moment, Anara thought he would take her there, but instead she realized he had yanked out his belt. “I might have sworn not to touch you, Princess. But that doesn’t mean I can’t beat your ass.”

Her jaw would have dropped had it not been in the palm of Dante’s hand.

Getting off of her, Dante released her jaw and she struggled to get away from him. “No!”

He was too fast, too strong. His hands were like vices. Dante flipped her onto her stomach as if she were only a child. Anara grabbed at his forearm, trying to stop him, but her feeble attempts were rebuffed by his speed and his strength as he pulled away from her.

“Dante, don’t you dare!”

She screamed wordlessly, her legs and arms kicking as she tried to escape. Instead she sank deeper into the silken fur as he pressed her down by the small of her back with his powerful hand.

Thunder rumbled across the sky outside as his belt cracked loudly against her naked bottom. It was punishment—nothing more.

Anara screamed, kicked wildly as she pressed her face into the pelt for some form of relief. And just as the pain began to subside, it came anew with another crack of his belt against her ass.

The Wind Steppe princess howled.

“Dante, no!” she begged, trying to shield herself with her arms. But he wouldn’t let her. She writhed with every crack of his belt.

“Gods! No, Dante! Nomoreplease!”

He strapped her again.

Her ass was on fire, waves of molten pain running through her cheeks as tears streamed down her face.

Dante breathed for a moment, then turned her over. Anara did not resist. She covered her face with her arm, but instead of watching her with satisfaction, he took her in his arms, and like a child she embraced him as she cried.