Dreams Made Flesh

something violent, hot, and impossible to resist.
    Marian.
    He knew what this was now. It had never hit him quite this way before, but he recognized it now.
    Rut. That time when a Warlord Prince's sex drive overwhelmed everything else. Every male was a rival to be eliminated. Every female
    but the one he'd chosen scraped a temper turned wild and unpredictable.
    Sex or violence.The rut worked itself out one way or the other. Sometimes both. He'd gone into rut several times since coming to Kaeleer and had had no desire to slake that drive in a woman's body. He'd depended on Jaenelle's presence to keep him chained. She had soothed his need to be close to a female and had channeled the violence into grueling physical activity that he'd thrown himself into with vicious willingness.
    But Jaenelle was at her house in Seek for a few weeks, and the woman he wanted, the woman who made his blood burn and sing…
    He had to get Marian out of the eyrie, had to get her away from him before the storm closed in and made it too dangerous to travel, even on the Winds. Because if she was still in the eyrie when the storm inside him broke, if they were trapped together for several days… If that happened, may the Darkness be merciful… because there would be no mercy in him.
    Giving an Eyrien war cry that was filled with fury and desperation, Lucivar launched himself into the face of the storm.
    As Marian pulled the roast out of the oven and set the pan on top of the stove, the front door slammed.
    "You made it," she said as she hurried into the eyrie's front room. When she saw him, she took a step back. His teeth were bared, and he stared at her with glazed, wild eyes.
    "Get out," he growled.
    "Lucivar…"
    "Get out!" He ripped off his short wool cape and threw it aside.
    She couldn't take her eyes off his bare, slick skin. It was freezing out there. Why was he so hot? And why wasn't he wearing a shirt or vest under the cape?
    The vicious snarl that erupted from him made her press her back against the wall.
    "I want you out of here. Go to Riada and stay with Merry. Go to the Keep. Go anywhere, but go. Now. "
    Fear shivered through her. She knew what this was. Survival de-
    manded that every witch learn to recognize the rut. Warlord Princes were always violently passionate and passionately violent, but the rut drove them to a savagery that bordered insanity. Other males were nothing more than rivals to destroy. And women…
    Her mother had once said that a Warlord Prince in rut had enough sexual hunger that he could service an entire coven twice over and still want more. The problem was, he focused on one female and wouldn't tolerate the presence of any other. His choice became the vessel for all that drive, all that need.
    She'd heard stories about Warlord Princes. She knew what could happen to the woman under him when he was in rut. Tongues partially bitten off. Nipples bitten off. Bones broken or shattered. Any male who tried to stop him would be killed, and he would turn away from the slaughter to mount the female again, oblivious to the carnage around him until the rut finally wore off.
    "Marian."
    Lucivar wore Ebon-gray Jewels. If she stayed, she could be maimed, even killed. But if she didn't stay, what would he do? Trapped here by the blizzard, driven by the violence inside him, he could hurt himself.
    "Marian."
    She was young, healthy, stronger than she'd ever been. And she was in love with him. She'd fallen in love with a man who challenged the world to take him on, sometimes with laughing, boyish enthusiasm and other times as a warrior born and trained to kill.
    She could do this for him. Would do this for him.
    "No." Her voice quivered with fear, but her heart didn't waver. "I'm not leaving."
    "GET OUT!" Lucivar screamed.
    "No." As she stepped away from the wall, she thought of the basic rules of survival. Move slowly because fast moves excite the predator instinct, and he'll be on you without thought, without mercy. Stay passive. Don't refuse him. Don't offer resistance to anything he wants to do to you.
    Lucivar snarled, his glazed eyes watching her.
    Vanishing her undershirt, Marian slowly unbuttoned her tunic and pulled it open just enough to display her breasts.
    His breathing became ragged. His hands curled into fists.
    "I'm not leaving," she said quietly.
    He was on her so fast, there wasn't even time to draw breath. One hand fisted in her long hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat. The other hand pressed