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breathing at last settled into something more smooth and steady, she slept.
     
    ~*~
    Jane came awake suddenly to find Cold Eyes standing over her and Zaren.
    The healer’s hut was dark, lit only by a few meager coals in the corner. But even in the dim light, she saw the glint in the other man’s eyes as they swept over her…and Zaren.
    His gaze lingered heavily on the long, lean thigh Zaren had curled around Jane’s leg, his muscular hip and tight buttocks…then lifted to meet her eyes.
    “Come, goddess. Your subjects await.”
    Jane wondered what would happen if she refused…if she fought him back and clung to Zaren. But as she brushed against her lover’s skin and felt the burning temperature of his fever, she abandoned that thought.
    She’d do nothing to risk his health and safety. He must be left to heal, to fight through the fever and to regain his strength. He must…for she couldn’t consider what would happen to her if he did not.
    And so Jane pulled away from Zaren. It was difficult, for though deep in the semi-consciousness of fever, he held tight. It was as if he somehow knew it was she.
    Nevertheless, Jane stood and turned resolutely from the man she loved. As she did so, she noticed the aged healer, sitting in her chair in the corner. Without another glance at Cold Eyes, Jane went to the elderly woman.
    “You must make him well. Care for him. For if he doesn’t recover, you’ll feel my wrath—you and the entire village.” She spoke sharply and firmly, and although the healer surely couldn’t comprehend her words, she certainly must understand the meaning.
    “Come, goddess. I grow impatient,” Cold Eyes said. “There are preparations to be done.”
    Aren’t there always? Jane thought, suppressing a shiver. What activities would they subject her to this evening?
    The first one, she found—and couldn’t complain about—was a warm bath. Her aching muscles wept with pleasure (a wholly different type of pleasure than before) when she sank into the large tub of steaming, floral-scented water. She soaked for a while, and was just beginning to feel relaxed and optimistic when her attendants drew her up and out of the bath.
    She was draped in a single tanned hide that wrapped around her waist like a very short loincloth, leaving her breasts bare and her quim hardly covered. And then she was taken once more to the hut with the altar-bed.
    Inside Jane found the same arrangement as last evening, with a table filled with food and drink, and pungent fires burning with the heady incense that made her feel slow and murky almost immediately. And yet her heart began to pound in expectation, and her skin tingled with anticipation.
    When the two guards—the same ones who’d blocked her from leaving earlier this morning—directed Jane to her position between the bedposts, standing on the head of the bed, she wanted to resist.
    “Save your strength, goddess,” Cold Eyes warned, as if reading her mind. “Surely you’ll need it tonight, for Ulma and Deren are very eager to curry your favor. And your pleasure.”
    Jane swallowed hard, her belly fluttering at the thought, and a sharp spear of lust and apprehension shot straight to her pip. It pulsed in a naughty reminder that her body, at least, would be willing and able to bestow “favor” on the worshipful couple.
    Her wrists were tied loosely to the tops of the two bedposts, and her ankles spread and tied to the bases of the same. Standing there, she felt less like a goddess and more like a sacrifice herself, but Jane summoned her strength.
    No one was about to hurt her. They wanted only her pleasure.
    And she would accept that. For Zaren’s sake.
    The third couple was young and oddly similar to each other in appearance. Both were tall, and Ulma, the woman, had high, hardly noticeable breasts and boyish hips. Her partner, Deren, was slender and lanky. His attention strayed to Jane and remained on her even as they stood at the table of offerings, making