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  He had to admit her words made sense. If she was getting closer to Scintil they were in for trouble. The nearest stable wormhole that came out near Rageron was still days away. If this could keep her from entering the second stage too early…

  “Hurt her,” he heard the voice of his old master saying. “Hurt her to help her, Tragar. Keeping the Tenrah in check is more important now than anything else, even the respect you feel for her as a female or the reverence you have for her as a Khalla.”

  Could he do it? He didn’t want to but the fire in her eyes decided him—he had no choice.

  “Goddess, forgive me,” he muttered as he unbuckled his belt and looped it carefully over his fist. He held it by the buckle, letting the black length of leather dangle from his hand like a snake. Then, raising his arm, he brought it down on her quivering buttocks.

  Emily moaned and gasped, jumping as the belt snapped against her naked ass. But she only spoke one word: “Harder.”

  “What?” Tragar couldn’t believe it. He’d given her a fairly decent blow. Nothing like what he would have given another male but still, it had left a wide red stripe across her soft, innocent bottom—a mark he was already regretting.

  “I said harder!” She braced against the bedpost again, sticking her bare ass out further, spreading her legs to give him an easy target. “Do it harder—now!”

  Almost by reflex he raised his arm again and brought down the belt much harder than before. She moaned and jumped but held tight to the bedpost.

  “Emily? Khalla?”

  “Don’t stop.” Her voice was a tight whisper. “Don’t stop—I think it’s working. Do it again!”

  He whipped her again and then again, his arm rising and falling as if moved by her will alone. And indeed, maybe it was. The fire of a Khalla was nothing to dismiss lightly. A male could very well get burned if he was not careful, playing with such a flame.

  At last, when her soft bottom was criss-crossed all over with red stripes he stopped.

  “Why did you stop?” She turned to look over her shoulder, her pale blue eyes awash with tears. “Do it, Tragar—hit me again.”

  “No! Goddess damn it—no.” Her tears and the way he had marked her filled him with remorse the hundreds of assassinations he had performed could not. He untangled the black leather belt from his hand and dropped it as though it was a poisonous creature that had bitten him.

  “Do it!” she insisted but her voice sounded faint and far away. Suddenly she collapsed, crumpling to the floor in a little heap.

  “Emily!” Her name was a groan on his lips. Rushing forward, he took her in his arms, trying to support her without hurting her. She was limp and lifeless in his arms—completely unresponsive.

  Goddess, he thought as her head rolled loosely on his arm. Oh Goddess forgive me—what have I done?

  Chapter Eleven

  Someone was patting her cheek. “Emily, come back to me! Emily, please.”

  The deep, urgent voice seemed to penetrate her brain, making her stir.

  “What…?” Emily came back to consciousness slowly, feeling very strange indeed. She looked up at Tragar who was cradling her in his arms, an anxious expression on his face. “What happened?” she asked uncertainly.

  “You fainted,” he said roughly. “Gods, I shouldn’t have done it—shouldn’t have used my belt on you. I should be beaten or killed for treating you so.”

  “I asked you to,” she pointed out. She lifted a hand to her face. “And…my eyes, they’re not burning anymore.”

  “Your Kit’tara has been driven back…though at a very high price.” Tragar sighed and shook his head. “Don’t ask me to do that to you again, Emily. I cannot.” The anguished look in his golden eyes spoke volumes of remorse.

  “You have to do whatever’s necessary.” She sighed and tried to sit up. “I…I think I’m all right now. I just—ow!” Her bare bottom had brushed the carpeted floor, causing a flaring jet of agony to her wounded posterior.

  “I’ll get a cooling cloth. Here.” The big Kindred helped her up, holding her as gently as though she was made of fine china and might break at the least touch. He laid her carefully on the bed, face down and left the room.

  Emily lay there, very aware that her nightgown was hiked up and her panties were down somewhere around her ankles. But her ass was on fire and it was hard to think about anything else except how much it hurt.

  Still, it was worth it if it got rid of the other—if it drove her back into whatever little box inside me she hides in, she thought grimly. Except…how many times would she have to go through this? How often would she have to get rid of the other, how many blows with the belt would she have to endure to keep holding her back? Could she stand it? Could she bear the pain to hold the other at bay? If I have to, I’ll do it, Emily decided. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, damn it! Anything to keep her from taking over.

  But could she count on Tragar to keep helping her? She couldn’t help remembering the stricken look on his face when she’d come to after fainting. He might be a brutal and deadly assassin but he hadn’t been kidding about how hard this was for him. Emily sensed he was close to hating himself for beating her with his belt, even though she’d all but commanded him to do it. What would she do if he refused to help her? If he—

  Just then something cool and soft and wet connected with her bottom.

  “Oh!” She jumped and looked around.

  “It’s just me.” Tragar’s deep voice still sounded faintly strangled and the remorse on his face was clear. “Gods, look what I’ve done to you.”

  “You did it because I asked you to,” Emily reminded him again. “And it worked, right? So it was worth it.” She tried to smile at him as he pressed the cool cloth very, very gently to her wounded bottom.

  He sighed, looking deeply troubled.

  “Worth it to keep you alive, I suppose and to keep your Tenrah from progressing. But I will still carry the memory of what I did to you to the grave.”

  “Hey, come on,” Emily said, trying to ignore the awkwardness of talking to him while he was gently bathing her ass with the cool cloth. “I mean, you kill people for a living, right? How much worse could giving me a little whipping be?” Then she wanted to bite her lip—last time mentioning his career as an assassin had set him off in a big way. But this time he only answered quietly.

  “Infinitely worse. The ones I killed—they were just targets. And I was ice inside—I felt nothing when they died.” His eyes had a faraway look, as though he was remembering someone or something only he could see. “I never thought to feel anything ever again. Not after Landra and Jalex…”

  “Who?” Emily asked in a low voice.

  The faraway look in his eyes faded to be replaced by a closed coldness.

  “No one,” he growled. “I am getting off track. Sufficient to say I do not wish to beat you again.”

  “Well, I hope you won’t have to but if the other starts coming back, I—ow!”

  “What is it? Did I hurt you?” He withdrew the cooling cloth at once, frowning.

  “No, it’s not that…” Emily shifted again and again the sharp pain lanced through her. But it wasn’t her ass that was hurting this time…it was her breasts. “I have to sit up,” she said, turning on her side. No matter how much her backside still stung, it was nothing to the sudden, stabbing pain she’d just experienced.

  Tragar helped her up without comment and she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, grateful that the cooling cloth he’d used on her had helped a little at least.

  “Where are you hurting?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing. Just, um…” Emily didn’t exactly want to say she’d felt like someone was poking hot needles into her nipples although that was certainly the sensation she’d had a moment before when her breasts rubbed against the bed. She tried to look down as unobtrusively as she could, wondering if she could see anything through her nightgown. To her mortification, she absolutely could.

  The pale blue, s