Free The Chieftain’s Daughter by Leia Rice Page A

Dahlia, Dahlia rubbed her own pussy against Ishara’s kneecap.
    They kept up like this, clawing, humping, grinding desperately, until all at once, Ishara came, her moans echoing through the cave. Dahlia’s orgasm rose soon after, and as she came, Ishara pushed her lips against the other woman’s. They hungrily kissed each other as the intense pleasure rose and subsided, and when it was over—almost as quickly as it started—they were left damp and sated.
    The huntress grinned an all-too-knowing grin and brushed back one of Ishara’s dreads. “Told you that you cared.”
     
     
    When the sun rose the next morning, they were ready to leave. Wearing a borrowed dress that hardly kept her body concealed, Ishara tugged on the belt that held a leather pack tightly to her hips, checking to make sure that her food rations for the day were secure. Strapped to her back, she wore one of Dahlia’s spears, which had a throng of feathers that dripped down from the spearhead.
    Dahlia looked just as savage, with her black hair pulled up at the top of her head, falling over her shoulders like a fountain of inky water. She wore a tight dress that covered little. Her whole midsection remained exposed and bared her toned torso.
    “It will be a long walk back. We won’t return until after the sun goes down.” Dahlia set out at once, choosing to step into the brush instead of walking the barely-cleared path that lead in the direction of the Manahotchi.
    “Why does it take so long? It only took me half a day to get this far.” Ishara didn’t have any problems with keeping up with Dahlia. In her childhood, her father couldn’t keep her away from the Dark Forest, where many men and women often got lost. Ishara wanted to explore. She had a pension for finding boundaries and pushing through them.
    Much like she did with Mechan.
    Dahlia pulled aside some hanging vines and held them for Ishara to pass. “I do not take the paths. Everyone else takes those paths as well. People who are not Manahotchi even. I would rather stay out of the way.”
    Ishara ducked under the vines and continued on her way. They walked for a few hours and stopped by a small watering hole that was sheltered by tall, thick trees. Parched from the walk, Ishara squatted down to cup her hands beneath the water sipped at the cool liquid. When she looked at her reflection, she saw her bright green eyes staring back at her, seeing through her. She shivered.
    Something unnerved her about this place. Lowering her hands again, Ishara refilled her cupped palms. And that is when she saw it in the reflection of the water.
    They were not alone.
    “Watch out!” Ishara spun around, yanking her spear from its resting spot on her back. At the same time, Dahlia drew her bow, aiming it at where Ishara’s voice faded into the trees.
    Five men jumped down from the branches, much more heavily armed than the two women. They were fierce, with dark skin, chiseled muscles, top-knotted black hair, and murky black eyes. They were Manahotchi, and they were not happy.
    Dahlia stepped ahead of Ishara, instinctively protecting her. “Put your weapons down. We are not who you are looking for.” She blinked, squinting toward the group of men. “Hey, I know you.”
    One of the men smirked. Another stepped forward, as if to attack, but before he could, a sly-sounding voice came along, causing him to halt.
    “Stop.”
    “Aloran?” Dahlia’s tone expressed her confusion, and reluctantly she lowered her bow, the muscles in her upper back tense.
    Ishara watched Aloran as he brushed past the other five men and hurried toward them. He did not seem angry or as ready to fight as the others. No, he was calm—controlled. Up to something.
    Stopping before Ishara, the son of the chieftain stared her down, making her feel small. Defenseless. She squared her shoulders, trying to make herself taller.
    Aloran smiled, his lips curling into a haughty grin. “I told you I would make you