Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 by Anitra Lynn McLeod Page A

consort anything either of you would wish to know.” One direct glance deep into her unique eyes conveyed the erotic depth of how Viltori would revel in teaching them. “But not at the cost of my life.”
    Bithia answered with a slight widening of her pupils and an almost imperceptible widening of her nostrils. Like a huntress, Bithia examined Viltori’s scent. When she leaned near, indicating her acceptance, he drew back. Not submissively, but wary and wise.
    “Respectfully, my lady, I do not wish to suffer for teaching you or your consort.” His soul did not debate the morality of engaging the empress and her consort in sexual congress. Viltori’s only concern rested with the perceived ethical dilemma: Acolytes professed their bodies and souls to the gods. Teaching Empress Bithia and her eternal consort Drahka how to share their bodies for pleasure was within his realm as a teacher. Teaching was a great part of being an acolyte.
    Doing was not.
    Viltori could tell Bithia and Drahka how to use their bodies. He could fashion art detailing how a man could use a woman or how a woman could use a man or how any number of Diolans could place their bodies together. He could even watch them use their bodies. However, he could not use either of their bodies to find his own pleasure. Ethically, what he’d allowed Rown to do to him this morning was wrong.
    A new kind of anger crossed her features, drawing her brows low over her mismatched eyes. “I did not know of this, but I will not let you suffer any harm.” Bithia lifted her head regally. “You are his teacher. I need you to help me teach him about my needs. Ambo told me you are the only acolyte who speaks his language.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Actually, you are the only one on all of Diola who speaks Drahka’s native tongue. That means none will harm you. Especially not I.”
    When she spoke of herself as the empress, her grammar improved substantially. “You didn’t protect the others.” The accusation left his mouth before he could clamp his foolish lips together. Expecting her to burst into anger and berate him an insolent fool, Viltori was stunned by the softness of her reply.
    “I did not know that what I did would hurt them.” After a deep breath, she placed her hand on her heart, curling her fingers over the edges of her robe. “I was only having fun.”
    Viltori believed her. Bithia was not a ruthless woman, only a lusty one. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to harm anyone. Viltori spared a quick glance to Drahka, who stood still, his face stoic as he tried to understand what they were discussing. In the interests of discretion, Viltori thought it wise not to translate what Bithia had done with multiple men prior to bonding to him. What Drahka didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
    With a look to Drahka, Bithia turned away, moving toward the ornate door. She pulled it open and spoke quietly to the guards waiting there. Over her shoulder, she told them to wait for her. “Continue teaching him until I return.” In a swirl of crimson, she left, closing the heavy door with a reverberating thud.
    “She is angry,” Drahka said.
    Viltori nodded. “But not at us.” He had a feeling the magistrate, Ambo Votny, was about to get an earful of righteous fury. Viltori’s estimation of Bithia rose greatly that she would now try to save those hurt by her actions. He knew most elite simply wouldn’t care what became of those who slaked their needs. Ambo didn’t. Viltori had heard of men who sold their female slaves into hard labor when they grew bored with mounting them, or when they impregnated them, such as Ambo was rumored to have done. He’d heard of women castrating men who failed to please them. Bithia was honestly surprised that her seductions ended in exile.
    “What was she trying to do to you?” Drahka asked.
    “She wanted to kiss me.”
    “Show me.”
    Now that would be a sight: him kissing Drahka when a touch to the arm disturbed the man.