Firestorm by Kathleen Morgan Read Free Book Online

close and ran her hand over the texture of the wall, searching for hand-and footholds. There was a small overhang just beyond the height of her head.
    She examined it and found it deep enough for a foothold. But was there another above to grab onto? None that she could find in the flickering light of the perpetual torch burning nearby. Cursing softly, Raina began to walk the perimeter.
    Luck was with her. On the far side of the enclosure, lush sempervivus trees grew. She eyed them critically, finally settling on one particularly stout one in the middle. It looked sturdy enough to bear her weight and certainly was tall enough, towering over the walls by a good five or six more meters. It would also, she realized, give her shelter once she topped the walls. The monk, if he were inside, need never know of her presence until she chose to reveal it.
    She grabbed hold of a branch above her head, swung up into the tree, and began to climb. The pitch oozing from the rough bark was sticky. The sempervivus needles pricked at her face and hands. The tree's pungent odor made her want to sneeze.
    A fine way to spend one's evening, Raina silently groused. Curse the monk for making things so difficult! Already she didn't like the man.
    The scent of incense wafted by. The red-gold light of a fire caught the corner of her eye through the tree boughs, then a fleeting glimpse of bare skin and movement. Shoving the branches aside, Raina turned and positioned herself for a better view.
    In her shock, she nearly lost her grip on the tree trunk and toppled over backward. A man, long of hair and scant of clothing,- his hard-muscled body glistening in the torch light, stood below. In his hands he clenched a long ceremonial dagger. Before him on the ground burned a coal-stoked brazier. For the space of an inhaled breath, he remained totally still. Then, with a harsh cry, the man wheeled and executed an intricate series of thrusts and parries, followed swiftly by a seemingly endless, athletically fluid repetition of front and side kicks.
    Raina couldn't take her eyes off him. Was this truly the warrior monk Teague Tremayne? He was one of the biggest, most powerful men she'd ever seen. Few men intimidated her, even in height, but this man—this monk—was magnificent in every way.
    He wore a narrow red loincloth that left his muscularly rounded buttocks bare and covered him only briefly in front with two strips of cloth that came together in a large knot over the swell of his manhood before falling to mid-thigh. The smooth planes of his bulging chest were ritualistically tattooed with huge bird talons reaching down across his pectoral muscles nearly to his nipples, and a mythical bird of prey twisting in flight down each of his upper arms.
    Raina had heard tales that the warrior monks of Exsul received such tattoos upon gaining the exalted status of a Grandmaster, but she'd never seen them until tonight. With his long mane of dark gold hair tumbling down in his face, his superbly fit, all but naked body glistening in the firelight, and the long, lethally tipped dagger in his hands, the monk appeared some primally potent and dangerous animal.
    She had thought to come here tonight and shame or intimidate this man into agreeing to go with her to Incendra, if he seemed even half the man she needed as her partner. Now, after seeing him, Raina knew she would do neither. Indeed, even the sight of him filled her with unease and set off a primitive warning vibrating deep in her gut. She didn't know why. She just felt it.
    Yet, even knowing this, Raina couldn't take her eyes from him. He was strength and beauty and sleek, gleaming perfection. His stamina, as he executed one flawless battle maneuver after another, was breathtaking. Would he never tire, never quit, until the night burned away to dawn?
    At that moment, with a low groan, he sank to his knees on the dirt floor. His head lowered until it touched his chest. His body shook, suddenly wracked with tremors.