Marked to Dance with the Enemy

I've been playing again... :) Not surprised, I know. Well, this weekend the muse came to visit, giving me yet another story that's a bit out of my comfort zone. I wrote it up as a short story for the Clever Fiction Weekly Challenge and then my dear friend, superb author and awesome cover designer Jaimey Grant, read it and said MORE! Thank goodness the muse has already given me more. I'd like to post the beginning of the story here and then hopefully you'll be enticed to jump over to the Clever Fiction site to read the next part (which I hope to have marked as Chapter 2 in something MORE very soon).

I designed a cover to go with the short but also created one to go with the whole story and now I can't decide which I like best. You'll have to let me know which name you think I should use as well as which cover catches your attention. Currently, the novel is titled Marked and the short is called To Dance with the Enemy. Looking forward to your reaction and feedback.

Marked by Linda Boulanger

The Beginning

Nose in the air, he sniffed. She was there. He could smell her. Chin falling, amber eyes danced over the crowd of provocatively dressed women. He pushed away a blond pawing at his leg. Others vied for his attentions with caresses and attempts at catching his eye by making the best use of their assets. They all knew who he was and exactly what he wanted … or so they thought.

He kept his focus, slightly maddened now by his need for her with the increasing scent. She was near. But which one was she? He cursed the masters for their silly rituals, making the warriors hunt through the throngs of women, both marked and unmarked, until their own was found.

He wondered if his woman knew who he was or that she had been marked as his? Every woman there knew why she was there. It was the season when those who had come of age were sent by their families. The Marked would be paired with their chosen from the elite warriors. The others would, if fortunate, find favor with one of the lesser warriors – still a privilege guaranteeing an easier life for the woman and her family. Some would become mistresses to the warriors who had fulfilled their duties and secured the bloodlines with the birth of future generations. Others would be used as sport by those whose Marked had not yet reached the appointed age, a station still considered favorable.

For years, that was the position Tahruk had found himself in – fulfilling his lusty desires without consequence. He had assumed it would be the same that year, until he had entered the hall and caught her scent, realizing for the first time the madness he had seen in fellow warriors as they went about locating the woman marked for them.

Looking over the sea of women, he cursed his station. They looked better this year than any he could recall. Hopefully his chosen would not disappoint, though at the moment he would not have cared. He simply wanted a woman to share his bed. It had been too long, the latest training rituals taking them right up until that night, keeping the women segregated from the men.

Where was she? His frustrated gaze fell on a golden-haired vision leaning against the support post across the room. Arms crossed over ample breasts draped in the finest of gold silk, she watched him without pretense. She knew what she wanted … him. He started her direction. The other women moved aside, disappointed, knowing where his long stride was taking him.

He smiled. The scent, the scent of his woman grew stronger with each step toward the woman sporting everything he liked. Tall and slender, fair hair that spilled over her shoulder like spun gold, light eyes that danced with mischief, the masters in their omniscience would have known and paired him accordingly. He licked his lips in proud anticipation thinking how other men would praise him, knowing his Marked was the finest of them all.

His nostrils flared as he dodged a small, dark figure that swept past him. His direction switched abruptly only steps from the blond temptress. Hawk-like eyes peered into the wave of feminine forms.

“Where are you?” The words were a low growl in his throat. He plowed through those that stood in his way, the others forgotten.

Every turn he made, his Marked seemed to be just beyond his grasp. Was she avoiding him? Was this part of the game? The crazed intensity of the unusual mating dance made him light headed. Him! A warrior, directly from the king’s bloodline, outmaneuvered by a slip of a woman. It mattered little that her being marked meant she was from royal lineage as well. All sense of reasoning had fled him. He needed to get his hands on her now.

“Freeze!” The boom of his deep voice did exactly that. Men and women alike, no one moved … save one. Not more than an arm’s length from him the dark figure bolted from the crowd, darting toward the door.

“Stop her!” He moved after her, impeded by the woman who had not so long ago enticed him. He thrust her aside, no care for her well-being nor that of those who stood between him and his Marked.

Three different men tried to get a hand on the shadowy figure, slowing her only slightly before she gained access to the door and ran free. The warrior smiled as he too slipped into the darkness beyond the hall. Did she not realize she had just made finding her easier? Not only would her scent be unmixed with the others, she had just entered his domain. The outdoors was where the mighty warrior felt most comfortable.

Nose in the air, he sniffed before turning his head to the right just in time to see the dark figure slip into the brush beyond the square. What a pity the rough thicket would most probably mar her delicate flesh. She hadn’t chosen wisely. The dense growth would surely hamper her movement in the long skirt as well. All the better for him. He nearly purred with anticipation.

“You can’t escape,” he called with his first step crunching the underbrush. It never dawned on him to wonder why she would even want to.

If you want more read where the woman takes you read my "short" called To Dance with the Enemy at Clever Fiction~short stories for the real world. Here's how that one begins....

Her breasts heaved with every breath, straining against the bodice of the silk gown. Silk - supposedly spun by the gods, meant to entice as it fell in revealing layers over the satiny skin of young ladies waiting for their chosen. To Elenya it only impeded her escape through the thick brush.

What a waste. She thought of her trip to the courts as well as the expensive fabric and the excitement that had surrounded picking it out, fashioning it into a body-covering masterpiece that represented her future, her dreams. Her family should have saved their reserves, her destiny decided many years ago by higher authorities anyway. The only thing she’d needed to entice her warrior was her scent. Or was it his scent? She wasn’t sure, knowing only that she’d been marked, ceremonially injected with his blood as a child to belong to him when her season came – though neither of them would know the other until the appointed time.

Elenya, knowing she had been marked and her future assured, was no different from the other girls who dreamed of a lifetime dance with one of the elite warriors of the court. (Click HERE to read To Dance with the Enemy over at Clever Fiction dot com)

Thanks for stopping by. Hope you'll leave some feedback on the story, the titles, which of the two covers grabbed your eye....