A tremor ran through him. He pulled her to him.
Her head went back. Her lips were trembling.
Breathing deep, Haral kissed her. The softness of her mouth made him a little giddy. Her lips clung to his. He could feel her arms about him, the pressure of her breasts against him.
But the jewels in her veil gouged his cheek.
What did that bizarre mask hide?
And there were Kyla's words again:
"Each night she took a different lover—and then, at the dawn, at her command, each one was slain!"
He lifted his head, then, and the living goddess whom men called Xaymar laughed softly, still in his arms.
"How many men have sought my kisses, warrior? Yet I ask you to claim them!"
Haral did not speak.