The Taming: Book 3 in the Tribe Warrior Series by Imogen Keeper (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

made people feel like they were smarter and funnier than they really were.

A shaft of rosy light slanted through the window, and Tor rocked his boot back and forth in the shadow. “Tell me about Pijuan.”

“The whispering gym-shite? Dillan’s death left us open, with you gone. Your return just blew his plan to hell. He’s not a fool. He’ll need to be dealt with.”

Add that to the growing list.

Water spread to the horizon beneath them, gold and orange, the waves dancing under the dying sun like lava. Klym leaned forward, face rapt.

“Who killed Father?”

Gaspart made a face.

“Did you do it?”

“I should have.” Gaspart sucked his teeth like he wanted to spit. “For a minute, I hoped maybe it was you, and you’d come back.”

“When I heard, for a minute, I wished I had.” Tor tapped his thumbs together on his lap. “Was it Sanger?”

Gaspart made a noncommittal face. “I don’t know how he could have gotten in. Father was found dead in his office. No visible signs. Mother blocked the autopsy, and the only person who could override her—you—were gone.”

His tone was jovial enough, but again, the edge lurked behind his casual demeanor. His gaze probed at Klym, watching them from the window. “You must be tired after your travels, milady. Was it a restful journey?”

“She spent most of her time in bed.” He meant it as a warning to Gaspart, but Klym clearly didn’t take it that way.

Her face tightened as if he’d slapped her. She recovered quickly enough, smoothing the moment over with a placid smile. “It was rather boring, actually.”

He laughed. “Told you, space is boring.”

Gaspart watched it all with interest, nose twitching. His gaze drifted to Tor, nostrils flaring, scenting her.

Tor growled, warning him off, but it was too late. He’d known it wouldn’t be enough to completely hide the issue, which is why he hadn’t let her bathe. She had enough of his spunk on her chest that anyone around would know she’d been marked by a Prime. But it wasn’t the same.

Gaspart knew. His eyes gleamed. “Funny. She doesn’t smell quite right.”

A flash of Pijuan’s face, his flaring nostrils as he’d said selissa?

“I’ve just bathed. Not four hours ago. With Vestigi soap, I might add.” Klym’s cheeks flared as red as the sky outside. “I don’t smell.”

If they’d been fucking like newlyweds for the last two weeks, she’d have him oozing out of her pores. He sighed. Klym didn’t make anything easy.

“You smell good, Klym.” To distract her, he leaned closer, so his face was near hers, letting his lips skim her ear, pretending he was just trying to share the view. “That’s our home.”

He pointed at the edge of the city, gleaming orange in the sun, at the top of the tallest cliff. The Roq. He’d missed it.

The city spread in all directions, chaotic and unbridled, with streets at odd angles, and the branches of the river breaking it up. Glass towers in the pre-plague style tossed light until the whole city looked like it was on fire. White stucco buildings squatted like great blocks topped with gilded conical roofs, and the amorphous walls of peachstone and geometric quartz. And all of them crawling with turquoise tammin vines.

“Almost there,” called the pilot from the front of the craft.

The Roqloomed on the top of its hill. Turquoise vines draped over a long, stucco polygonal body of the main house, beside the glittering arches of the family quarters. The massive glass tower held the public spaces, stretching high above it all, and the main entry clad in quartz glittered like the sea.

She made a production of straightening her skirts and checking her hair as the hover landed, fussing over her plant like it was a newborn baby.

“Give us a minute,” Tor said to Gaspart, and his brother hopped down. He held Klym back.

In about three minutes, she’d meet his entire family, and they would not be warm and accepting, and she’d probably find out that somewhere between fifteen and thirty women thought they were going to marry him, which was something he really should have told her. But every time he thought about explaining that in addition to the regioship, he’d inherited his brother’s harem, his cock decided it would rather play than fight.

“I...” He stared at her.

“You what, Tor?”

I don’t know. He frowned.

“Everything okay?” the pilot asked.

The growl built in his chest. “Migane. Go away.”

The pilot backed off.

Klym stuck out her chin.

His mouth opened, but under the onslaught of her eyes, glinting with fury, he didn’t say anything.

“You needn’t give me any more warnings or threats or spankings,” she hissed. “I’ll keep my end of the bargain—at least in public—but don’t you dare touch me again and then boast like I’m some prize.”

“That’s not why I did it.”

She made a face of dubious disdain. “And don’t you dare use whatever you and Gaspart were talking about as an excuse to rub your stink all over me again. You can tell everyone I have an obsession with water if you like, but you won’t use that to get close to me.”

Wrong. He was absolutely going to use it as an excuse. “Not an option, amiera. It’s the perfect excuse to rub my stink all over you, and rub it I will. From this day forward, you won’t leave my side without my stink all over you.”

Her chin trembled.

“Stop making that damned face.” He slapped his hand down on the seat back. She shoved her plant at him and turned toward the pilot.

He looked down at the plant in his hands. The stupid weed had quadrupled in size. The flowers were nearly as big as his palm. It would probably spread across Tamminia like a vine and destroy the local flora, and it had cost a small fortune to import the thing, but she had too few possessions to start abandoning them.

He scratched his jaw. “I—”

Klym reached for the pilot’s outstretched hand. It was the pilot who helped her down to take her first step in