Flashback A Dance Between Lovers [Vanator]

[Sybel]

21st Day of Spring, 507 AV

It’d been a week or nearly so. Her blue eyes were bloodshot from repeatedly sleepless nights. Sybel lie awake on the firm ground, her gaze tracing the folds of her tent. Love was truly double-edged. For all the joy it brought her, there was also sorrow and more importantly, doubt. Would she be enough? Could she forsake her freedom for something more? For every daylight hour she denied these questions, they were there waiting as the sun sank low. Her own mind reprimanded the depth of those feelings. Life wouldn’t remain simple for long. Sooner or later, questions required answering and then someone would have to sacrifice.

Light poured through canvas, illuminating the swirling motes of dust. The sun had been up for hours, though how many was hard to say. The Benshira sat up and peered about blearily before raking her fingers through mussed hair. Fatigue had gotten the better of her just before sunrise and for that, she was blessed with a few hours of actual sleep. Sybel uncoiled her aching muscles with a long cat-like stretch before rising, dressing, and strapping on her longsword.

One glance in the looking glass and she found herself suitable for human contact. Sure, she looked like a Nuit but… What the hell. It was better than being a Nuit. Despite the onset of insomnia, she was determined to remain positive. Sybel would dodge her own doubts for as long as possible. She’d do anything to savor the fleeting happiness she’d found. It was that thought that carried her as she stepped jauntily over toward the Denusk pavilion.

It seemed odd, waltzing around so openly armed where there was clearly no need. In the beginning her sword belt had put the locals on edge. It was funny how things changed. Now each passerby gave her a polite nod as she went along, disregarding the weapon entirely. Drykas were warm people - once you were accepted, anyway. The thought arranged her otherwise exhausted features into a smile. Sybel nodded back absently to each, her mind already elsewhere.

It felt wrong to just stroll into his family’s tent. Arms folded, she stood in front of the main entrance. The smile slowly faded, replaced with a more serious expression. She hadn’t been challenged this way before. Normally he’d come to her tent or they’d meet in the Grass. But this time she was clearly late for their appointment. She had no choice but to come to him. Sybel couldn’t seem to think of a single joke, either. Humor usually smoothed things a bit. Perhaps she was a bit too tired for smart remarks.

Perhaps the Ukalas would freeze before that was true. Clearing her throat, she peered around. That was a laughable behavior – as if anyone was watching. Except someone was watching. ”Syna’s flaming knickers!” She exclaimed, eyes wild. He’d been completely silent. ”Just how long were you standing there, exactly?”

[Vanator]

Finding one of his favorite Luvanor hounds barfing violently in the corner of the pavilion was not how Vanator wanted to start the day. When he found a mass of half digested berry muffins in the mess the hunting dog had made, he was very displeased indeed. The Ankal's son drew a quick correlation between the vomiting dog and the skittish behavior of his twin cousins when he had bumped into them earlier. After hunting down Jinna and Targan, Vanator dressed down the young teens thoroughly before tasking them with cleaning up the vomit and making sure the dog got plenty of water.

The incident had delayed his preparations for meeting Sybel. It would be the woman's first visit to the Denusk Pavilion, and now it smelled like dog puke. His mother scurried to light some dried herbs to banish the stench, she too wanting her son's new love interest would find the family home inviting. Nadra Denusk had long wished his mourning son would find another wife, and the fact that Sybel was not Drykas made little difference to her. Her husband, the Ankal, was hesitant about his heir taking an outsider, but he had little room to criticize, his third wife, a Konti, was not even human, let alone of the horseclans.

Disappearing behind his partition within the large tent, Van quickly washed his face and torso, then ran his fingers through his mane to comb out the tangles. He donned a clean tan tunic and black trousers before strapping the hardened leather carapace of his armor about his chest. Riding boots completed his dress and, picking up his battle ax, Vanator slipped out of the pavilion.

It was an odd ensemble to wear for a date. Vanator and Sybel had been together less than a tenday, and he did consider them together, for if he was not with her physically, she was certainly ever-present in his mind. The Drykas had sought ways to understand her more, learn more about her, know her in every aspect of her life. It was true, Vanator had intentions of a long time commitment with the Benshiran beauty, in spite of the vision he saw at Aquiras' Tunnel. Vanator had learned that the Benshiran could wield a sword, and that was definitely something the Drykas wanted to see.

Sparring was not romantic, to most cultures. But to Vanator, it was. A woman who could handle her weapon was almost as arousing as one who could handle herself under the furs. The lovers had yet to consummate their blossoming relationship, clinging to the tantalizingly unspoken restraint that had become a delicious tension between the Drykas and desert girl. Perhaps Vanator could sate some of his passion by engaging Sybel in another form of intense physical interaction, so he invited his love to some good-natured arms practice.

Van strode across the compound to a storage tent, where he retrieved a leather sheath that would cover the deadly edge of his ax. It would not do to accidentally hack a chunk of flesh from the woman he adored. Tucking it into his belt, the Drykas headed back towards the pavilion. Rounding a pair of Seme's that his uncle was grooming, Vanator caught sight of Sybel outside of the pavilion, a scabbarded longsword resting against the slight swell of her hip. Vanator's heart kicked at his sternum.

Though not sneaking, the Drykas did not announce his approach, the grinding of his boots on the worn ground masked by the whinnies of horses and the sound of Endyrkas life around them. Drawing closer, he paused, indulging himself a bit as he silently watched the Benshiran. He could not see her face, only the back of her raven mane, but he envisioned a perplexed look upon her golden features, for her arms were folded over her chest, her weight resting on one leg as the other flexed slightly. When Sybel tentatively drew her gaze to her surroundings and finally spotted him, Vanator gave her a wry grin, impishly pleased that he had taken her by surprise.

"Just a few ticks." He replied. "I didn't mean to startle you, really, you were just so intent in your thoughts, I didn't want to interrupt." Vanator's eyes drank in Sybel all over, as he did every time they met. She was as beautiful as always, but there were a few traits that he had noticed the last couple days. Her usually crystalline pale blue gaze had bore the burden of fatigue. Yet, in fleeting glances, Vanator had thought he discerned something deeper, smileless musings in averted eyes. Though his concern for her had compelled him to ask more than once if she was alright, Sybel always insisted that she was simply not sleeping well. Not wanting to nag her, Vanator had left the matter at that, though his concern was not assuaged.

"By the way, good morning gorgeous." Leaning towards her, the Drykas took her hand in his and planted a kiss on her lips, letting it linger for a moment as the press of her plush mouth made his nerves come alive. Stepping back, he met her weary gaze with anticipating gold-flecked hazel eyes and a subtle smile.

"Are you ready? There is an open space beyond the camp where we can go." As they turned to make their way through the compound, Vanator's gaze lowered to the weapon dangling at her side. "May I see it?"

[Sybel]

At every meeting, she found herself short of breath. Vanator was singularly attractive to her in a way memory could not define. Her lips twisted upward at the sight, taking in his battle-clad ensemble. He wore it well, which was no surprise. He appeared more the true warrior while Sybel seemed a duelist and a scoundrel. All things were true to themselves, she thought with a lingering grin. ”Ah,” she called, regaining some ground. ”My handsome opponent.” That was the way. She could read the momentary concern as it passed over his eyes – there was no hiding her exhaustion. Still, there was no changing it. Just as quickly as the expression came, it went.

He looked so boyish, so breathless. His voice was vibrant with emotion as he kissed her, forcing her knees to go weak. ”Hi,” she whispered as he pulled back, her vocabulary incapacitated with one sundry blow. A kittenish part of her suddenly wanted to take a nap in his arms. She was tired, after all. The notion was dismissed, but not forgotten. Perhaps they’d wear themselves out with a good old-fashioned brawl. ”I’m always ready for you,” she replied with a coquettish smile. This was already shaping up to be a good time.

At his request, she couldn't resist raising an eyebrow. The inquiry made her feel comically masculine. They began walking toward the open space without further question and she brandished the hilt. ”Of course, though I’d rather not scare poor Jinna just yet.” It seemed his relatives were snooping per usual. The younger members of the Denusk Pavilion enjoyed watching the young lovers, most likely dreaming of the day they’d find their own. It was a sweet, silly practice and one that annoyed Vanator endlessly, no doubt.

When they finally came to a stop she unsheathed the blade, the steely ring echoing off into the empty air. She held it with negligible effort. ”You’ll find I’m a scratch more formidable than you anticipate.” Not that she assumed he’d underestimate her. Most people got the feeling she could hold her own. Sybel had ventured into the grass on innumerable occasions. There were times she nearly lost her life in the process, too. That sort of mortal danger never seemed to dampen her resolve however. She was as stubborn as a Cyphrus ox.

With a dry expression and a flick of her wrist, her blade sheared clean through a nearby veil, previously guarding the entrance to a supply tent. A very startled youth stood in the doorway. ”I could see your feet,” she grinned wolfishly. ”Off you go,” she chastised, turning her gaze back to Vanator’s. ”I’d weave you another, but I’m worthless at anything even remotely feminine.” Excepting her cooking, of course. ”I’ll just have to buy you another.” She gave a mock sigh.

”So, shall we begin?”

[Vanator]

Vanator fell into the gait to which the lovers had become accustomed, a leisurely stride that was more than simple ambulance from one place to another, but a pace that fostered intimate conversation. As they wove a path through the tents and cooking fires, the Denusk's eyes fell often from Sybel's golden features to the weapon slung from her belt, the sheathed length of the blade bobbing and bouncing against the full curve of the desert woman's hip in a manner that stirred the grassland warrior to distraction. He had seen her as many things in the short time they had been together. Jovial barmaid, shrewd trader, clever comic, sensual tease, wholly feminine yet as hearty and adventurous as any woman of the grasslands. But to see her gird a weapon to her side cast the ever intriguing Benshiran into a new light, a side of the beautiful girl which the love-stricken Vanator was anxious to discover.

The Drykas remained close to his girl as they went, a desire he could not deny, their arms often brushing until he finally slid his hand down her forearm and laced his fingers within hers, ignoring the many eyes that surely had fastened on the handsome couple. The heir had a girl, and the whole pavilion was in a virtual tizzy now that she was among them.

Booted feet, male and female, halted at the edge of an open space behind the storage tents. Vanator released his hold upon Sybel, freeing her to wrap those same tender fingers around the hilt of her weapon, sliding the honed steel from its sheath with a practiced motion. The Benshiran wielded the blade with familiarity, and the Denusk male could see his darling had certainly handled the blade before. Vanator drew in a deep breath, thoroughly enamored. The Drykas grinned, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise at Sybel's bawdy boast, a brag befitting the randy trader. A ready taunt was poised upon his lips when Sybel's gleaming blade flashed in a flourish, rending the flap of a tent to reveal a wide-eyed cousin staring slack jawed at the swordswoman. The baleful glare the Denusk heir shot at the youngster was unnecessary, as the desert girl had scared the poor child half to death, and he scurried away like a frightened hare.

Vanator smirked when the raven-haired woman professed her worthlessness at anything feminine. It certainly was not a resounding endorsement for someone whom the Drykas wanted to make his wife. But as he looked upon Sybel, her beauty and vitality, even her imperfections lent to the perfection to which Vanator had elevated the young woman. The Denusk man just wanted to be with her...everything else was a minor detail.

Vanator held out his hand to examine Sybel's sword, taking it in his large, calloused hand. He himself was not trained in the use of a sword, though he surely knew how to appreciate the deadly double-edged blade. His hazel eyes lifted to his love, gold-flecks reflecting the sunlight.

"Yes, lets see what Benshira know of fighting." Vanator's taunt was delivered with a wry smile, his heart pounding with anticipation as he handed Sybel her weapon of choice. Stepping away from the desert girl, Vanator shrugged his shoulders, settling the hardened leather carapace into a comfortable fit, the battle ax gripped in his right hand. He circled slowly, his attention focused on Sybel. With some effort the Drykas shifted his paradigm, attempting to shirk the habit of studying the woman's body with carnal intent, the appreciation of the generous curves and confident swagger that drove him to desirous distraction. Instead, she was to be seen as a foe, requiring the analysis of strength and weakness, tendency and reach, all the elements of combat Van would require to best his beloved Sybel.

[Sybel]

She noticed his traveling eyes and rewarded him with a shy smile as they walked side by side. Vanator seemed intrigued by her weapon, ever eager to see what she could do. All in good time, she thought with mischief. All in good time. Indeed, their unspoken vow had plagued her as well. Sybel ached alone in her tent, thinking only of him. Of his eyes, his hands… She shook herself from the fruitless daydream. It was moot to lust after the man standing right next to her. It would only serve to amplify the need. His hand finally sought hers, staking it’s rightful claim. Sybel loosed a restful sigh. The feeling of their bodies joined in some way satisfied. Just being by his side was enough.

Vanator seemed impressed by her swordsmanship, though she’d suspected as much. Sybel was far more skilled than what her appearance might suggest. It was always gratifying to see her opponent’s lips part in mild astonishment as she held the point low, circling like a wild cat. But her unfortunate victim in this case, was a piece of his property. Sybel felt a residual pang of guilt at shearing the canvas flap in two.

His hand reached out to take her blade and she warily handed it over. Only Vanator, she thought somewhat wryly. Sybel had spent enough time in the wilderness to be mistrustful. Still, the setting mattered. This wasn’t a true battle – just a bit of fun practice between lovers. Perhaps she’d even win, though the thought was doubtful as her eyes traced his axe. He relinquished her sword in lieu of the battle’s start, circling her in much the same way she circled him. A mysterious smile hung from her lips. She returned the blade to it’s sheath, unwilling to do him actual physical harm. After strapping it fast, she continued to stalk, eyes predatory.

With a small skip, she danced in to strike under his knee. The blow was half-hearted; a test shot. The first step in facing an unfamiliar opponent was to observe their strategy. Sybel was concerned with agility. It took less than a pound of pressure to pierce flesh - the idea was to pierce it often. Vanator could go either way, but his large weapon suggested otherwise. It was all she had to resist snorting. The pun knocked her out of focus for a moment, but she quickly regained herself.

She noted he too was having a spot of trouble. It was difficult to go from ally to enemy in such a short span of time, especially when it was a very sexy ally. She admired the sun-warmed tone of his skin and the set of his jaw. Even his scent on the wind enticed her, drew her closer rather than farther away. This was a greater challenge than she anticipated. But he must be suffering in the same way – she saw the desire pooling in his caramel eyes. Sybel decided to try a ploy.

She turned her body away, seeing if he’d take the bait. It would allow her to step in and bring the point under his arm. If not, she’d have to dodge. It all depended on just how clever he really was. Sybel grinned. ”Indeed.”

[Vanator]

[s

Donning the guise of opponents, the man and woman began to circle one another in the time honored choreography of duelists. But this day, Vanator found an arousal in the combatants' dance, watching Sybel's stalk him with a self-assured swagger that hinted at coiled muscles and energized nerves beneath her sultry exterior. Sybel moved with feline grace and appealing confidence, her blade low, the crystaline gaze of her smokey blue eyes threatening to distract her lover's attention. The Denusk compelled himself to drop his eyes from the woman's golden countenance. The eyes of an opponent could deceive, the axeman told himself. The Drykas instead lowered his gaze to the level of her shoulders, gauging their angle to the line of her spine. The physics of movement could not lie, and the dip or raise of a shoulder, even slightly, could foretell a coming strike. But the randy horseman's attention darted to the swell of Sybel's breasts beneath her blouse, missing the telltale signs that she was going to attack. fortunately, the Benshiran's blow was hardly full-intended, and with a shift of his leg and a drop of his battle ax, the swordmistress' exploratory lunge was deflected.

Maybe it was the wry curl at the corner of her plush mouth that gave Sybel away, a feature Vanator would not usually observe in an enemy. Yet, the man could not resist a darting glance. The brunette's alluring lips held a hint of mischief that urged the trader's beau to wariness. She turned, exposing a weakness. What are you up to my darling? His first instinct was to take advantage of the moment and swing the ax at her. But Sybel was a woman not easily predicted, and certainly clever and perceptive. Not wishing to underestimate his beloved, Van instead crouched slightly and shoved forward with the ax, blunt top of the head first, like a spear. But long legs and a supple spine steered the agile woman from the lunging attack, which brushed near, but did not touch, the desert girl. Somewhere off to the side, one of his young kin let out a laugh and an woohoo. The boy was silenced with a baneful glare from the Ankal's heir.

Vanator's attention quickly settled again upon Sybel's lithe form. "My darling, are you baiting me? Devious girl." Vanator cooed through a grin. They still moved, circled, boots shuffling over trampled grass, both at once prey and predator, a dynamic much like their relationship. Vanator measured the distance between them, preparing to make his own analytical assault. Stepping towards Sybel, the Drykas raised the sheathed ax in one hand, chambered it back and swung it at an angled arch towards the smaller woman. He did not put much behind it, letting the weight of the weapon carry the blow. Sybel had certainly exhibited the agility to avoid the broad strike, or she could parry with her sword. Which tactic, and how well it was executed, was the assessment Vanator wished to make.

[Sybel]

He was onto her or so it seemed, the axe lunging forward rather than sweeping across. Naturally she skipped to the side, her grin broadening. Vanator was not to be taken lightly. His martial prowess was all that she’d hoped it to be. Sybel watched with heat as his muscles surged, drawing the weapon back. ”Devious?” She feigned incredulity for a brief moment before reverting to the previous smirk. ”Never.” She sensed an attack as his body grew taut. Sybel sank low, calculating. From the angle of his shoulder, she had a brief vision of where the hit would connect – a dodge would be far easier, but meeting the blow could help her gauge his strength.

Still, it was a good bet he wouldn’t use all his might. Testing his strength would be fruitless and she was running out of time. Eyes calculating, she shifted fluidly out of harm’s way, the weapon streaking past where her shoulder once had been. There was still humor in her eyes, but a glint showed something more – something subtle. Predatory. They were playing, which was fine… But Sybel had an urge to test his mettle and she knew only one way to get the reaction she was looking for. Her step became quicker as she circled him, and her smile slowly faded into a serious line. Inhaling deeply, she allowed her blood to sing with the wild joy of war. If she took it seriously, so would he.

The inherent problem with a large weapon was speed. Landing an attack could fell a foe with one strike, but missing had devastating consequences. Cornflower eyes performed a meticulous scan of his strengths and weaknesses. He wielded the axe with ease, so moving in would be out of the question. The only way to win the fight would be to draw him out – to trick him. Her first ploy had caved in on itself, but she had a few others in store. How else had she lived so long? With serpentine grace, Sybel shifted the grip of her steel. She moved the hilt forward while her left sat in an overhand position on the blade, all the while stalking her prey. He was in the center, with the illusion of control. She could lever the attack and shift, potentially making contact by bringing the point on line.

Still, he might see through the defensive ploy. Sybel didn’t just fight for the glory – she fought to keep her life. Survival was priority number one and as a result, her style reflected that. The idea was to battle smarter, not harder. But subterfuge was difficult between lovers… A pang of remorse slithered unwelcome into her heart. What if one of them actually sustained an injury? Her blade was unsheathed. If she couldn’t stop short, she might take his head clean off. Doubt was a bane on the battlefield… But her steps didn’t falter. This was one game of power she couldn’t afford to lose.

”Vanator,” she cajoled lightly.

[Vanator]

A strange thrill trilled in Vanator's gut as Sybel slithered out of the path of his axe, the leather-covered edge whiffling through empty air. She was agile, proving there was active, honed sinew and muscle beneath the lithe contour of her inviting physique. Vanator found it interesting that the Benshiran did not counter his attack. She was a patient one, it appeared, no doubt learning her opponent's traits before engaging. Nor did Sybel simply prance about, waiting for something to happen, the raven-haired girl subtly shifted the dynamics of the encounter.

Vanator found himself the focal of her predatory circuit. Sybel's countenance shifted, light and playful lover donning the cast of a toying predator. The light mirth of her azure gaze took a hard edge, her sweet smile flattening to a grimmer smirk. Vanator could have taken it simply as the determination of a girl playing warrior, But as she slid the length of her blade to a ready position, it's honed edge poised to defend her with a mere flick of her wrist, Van knew better. The Drykas sensed Sybel was expecting, or wanting, her lover to more readily display his prowess.

Vanator rotated on his heels, having to move more quickly to keep pace with Sybel's circling pace. She looked all the deadly swordswoman, and Vanator reevaluated his current paradigm. The Drykas would not turn down the challenge in her demeanor, nor the honey-coated taunt delivered in Sybel's simple utterance of his name. Strategy was needed, to demonstrate his skill without seriously harming the woman he loved, or allowing her to do the same. There was a measure of trust he had put in the woman, knowing her bared blade could easily slash him open, even unintentionally. But Vanator was equally anxious to prove that he was a man more than worthy of the desert girl's affections.

The Drykas' crouch deepened, as did the lines of his face as Vanator gauged his next move. Sybel waited, ready for him to act. But the sword in her hands had reach, and getting past it was the tricky part. The woman was coiled and ready, and another ax strike would probably be just as easily avoided as his other attacks. And now that she had seen the time it took for the axman to recover from a miss, the clever girl would know how to counterattack. Instead, Van grabbed the ax haft in both hands, charging forward. The thick shaft between his fists shot out, aimed to preemptively block or deflect the sword blade. His shoulder was shifted forward in order to check against Sybel's, the intent to knock her off balance and hopefully to the ground. There, Vanator would have a distinct advantage.

[Sybel]

Even with pride on the line, it was difficult not to appreciate his tactic. Luring him out seemed a moot point – she watched with amusement as Vanator gripped the handle and lunged forward, anticipating the parry she so obviously wanted. Sinuous, the blade streaked out to meet him, catching the midsection of his axe handle with ease. The strength behind it however, was more than she’d initially bargained for. His shoulder crashed into hers, temporarily throwing the blessed equilibrium that kept her standing. The smile was quickly stolen away, replaced by mild irritation. How did she miss that? For being a well-muscled fellow, he was surprisingly quick on his feet.

The Drykas managed to shove her back a few inches, but she wasn’t quite out of the game. Sybel feinted to one side (mercifully out of the way of his axe) pretending to stagger back before stepping in, the heel of her foot coming down hard on his instep. It less a strategy and more a means of survival… They were starting to get down to the truth of how Sybel fought. Her sword came down flat and at an angle, attempting to lever the axe from his grip. If she could just rattle him temporarily, she could disarm her foe… And win her lover’s reward. The thought summoned a smile unbidden. Even when fighting, she could help but look upon this man with love.

Still, they were in the middle of a very intense struggle. Her whole body went taut, attempting to use the forces of gravity. One hand pressed downward at the hilt while the other pressed upward at the handle’s edge. It was unwieldy and a gamble at that – whoever won this little stand off would most certainly take the prize. It left her to wondering if the style with which she fought wasn’t a tad risky. How close had she come to death in these moments? It was sobering. If Vanator won, it would only be cause to work harder… Become stronger. At least this defeat wouldn’t close the chapter of her life.

There was a fatal error, but for which… Who could say? Her blue eyes traveled up to meet his, lips slightly parted from exertion. He was breathtaking in his light layer of sweat, eyes the color of golden fields and rich, crisp amber ale. Being close as they were, she could smell his glorious aroma. And for half a second, her grip went slightly slack. The mistake went unnoticed on her part, however. Sybel stopped caring who won, at that point.

Instead, she sighed.

[Vanator]

The Denuks's ploy worked in theory, Sybel all too ready to meet his weapon with hers. But the impact of his charge was diminished by her own quick reflexes, turning a bum rush into a glancing blow. The broad shouldered Vanator did move the smaller woman, but only a bit, and she recovered with fervor, leveraging her weapon until the lovers were in a stalemate, each twisting their weapon to disarm the other. Vanator winced and hunched a bit as Sybel's boot smashed into his instep, and the man let out a muffled yelp. But he held his ground.

Still, there were factors at play that were unusual for a conflict of this nature, and an element that was never present in any fight or spar in which Vanator had participated up to that point. And as the fighters strained, one's gaze met the other, and that unusual element, love, made itself manifest. Van's eyes slipped from the pale blue depths of her intense gaze, wandered over the honey-colored contour of her cheeks, to the plush softness of desired lips, and the Drykas man's mind darted for a tick to thoughts less martial. His beloved opponent must have suffered the same distraction, for in the same moment that her grip faltered slightly, Van's exerted strength broke the stalemate. His inattention did not allow the distracted warrior to benefit from Sybel's small mistake, instead, throwing him off balance. Vanator teetered back on his heels for a moment, then went backwards, letting go of the ax with one hand and seizing upon Sybel's arm with the other, until they both crashed into the crumpled grass.

After a solid thud and a moment of gasped air, Vanator released a laugh, forced from his lungs by the weight of the Besnhiran on top of him. It had been so long since he laughed so easily, found happiness so readily, felt so strongly about a woman. Before Sybel could react, Vanator let go of his ax and took Sybel's face between his hands, lacing his fingers into her thick raven mane. Words that had hovered on his lips for days fought for release, his heart swelling with the need to speak them. Again, Vanator plunged into the woman's captivating luminous gaze. A sudden passion had taken the man, wrapped in mirth and the utter contentment of the moment, and his eyes searched Sybel's, as if weighing a great matter.

"Sybel," he breathed, still searching her gaze, a ready smile on his lips. "Will you be my wife?"