by Lisa Shearin
Page 43
He dropped his trousers and I tried to keep my jaw from doing the same thing.
“I . . . uh . . . Dammit, I forgot my question. ”
Mychael’s eyes sparkled. “I’m also an expert in avoiding interrogation. ”
Black Cats were experts at vanishing into the night. I didn’t want Mychael doing the same to me.
But I also didn’t want Mychael getting killed because of me.
“How much longer will you stay here as paladin?” I tried to make the question sound matter-of-fact, but my voice sounded kind of small even to me.
“Raine, I’m not going anywhere. My job here is far from finished. ”
“But let’s say you did need to leave. I mean, if you had to . . . I want you to know that . . . well, that I would understand. ” I forced out a little laugh. “I know some kick- ass mages, and I could always call in more of my family. Some of them are crazy enough to take on anything. ”
Mychael had pulled on his gray uniform trousers. His feet and chest were still bare. He padded over to me and put his arms around me, pulling me close. Words couldn’t describe how good that felt.
“You don’t need to call anyone,” he murmured against my hair. “We’re going to take care of this together. ”
I took a slow breath and let it out against his chest. Just say it, Raine. “Mychael, you’re in enough danger without feeling obligated to me. ”
He loosened his hold so he could see my face. “Ob ligated?”
“You feel responsible for getting me into this and now you feel obligated to get me out. ”
“Raine, I don’t—”
“Please, let me finish. I’m poison to you. If Nukpana or Balmorlan . . . or hell, even if Carnades manages to bring me down, I won’t take you with me. I don’t know how I’ll stop them, but I’ll do what I have to. ” I put my hands on his chest, keeping the distance between us. “Please . . . please, don’t take any more chances with your life because of me. ” My vision blurred and there was no smoky fireplace to blame it on. “I care too much about you. ” I tried to force down the emotions that thickened my voice. “I couldn’t stand it if you—”
Mychael looked down at me for a long moment, then he slowly put one of his hands over both of mine. “Raine, some chances are worth taking; they’re so rare and precious that it’s worth risking everything. ” He said it with conviction. He said it like a man who had made up his mind and Death itself wasn’t going to budge him.
I was talking about him surviving the next few days. Mychael wasn’t.
He was talking about me. About us.
I felt a surge of panic. “And sometimes they’re not worth taking. ” My mind raced. If I left the island, I’d take my trouble with me and Mychael would be safe . . . at least safer. My dad had left Mid nine hundred years ago. He’d had no choice—
Mychael curled his fingers around my hands, holding them tight. “Then I will come after you. ” He paused, the smooth muscles working in his jaw. “And if someone takes you, be they man or mage, I will find you. ”
I didn’t need our bond to tell me what he was thinking, what he felt. I could see it in his eyes.
Mychael Eiliesor loved me.
“I don’t regret anything I’ve done—or anything I’ll have to do in the next few days. ” He pulled my hands to his lips one after the other, kissing the center of each palm. “I regret nothing,” he whispered, “especially you. ”
Mychael bent his head, his lips hesitating over my mouth. When his lips lightly touched mine, I expected him to pull away after a brief kiss as he’d done before, his passion denied, our propriety maintained.
Not this time. He didn’t deny himself—or me.
Mychael’s lips gently explored mine as if tasting them for the first time, or memorizing them if this was the last time. One of his hands cradled my neck and throat, his thumb lightly stroking my face. The other was more insistent, wrapping around my waist and gathering me to him.
He opened his eyes and gazed down at me. The question was there in those sea blue eyes, unspoken, lingering between us. Did I want him to stop?
I didn’t need words to answer him.
My hands reached up to either side of his face and pulled him down to me, the stubble on his face a delicious roughness beneath my fingers. Mychael’s lips had been gentle explorers; mine were conquerors, taking what I’d wanted from almost the first moment I’d seen him. Mychael wasn’t the only one who had denied himself. Death had knocked on my door one time too many; I wasn’t going to deny myself anymore. I’d take what I could, while I could. Plunder, pillage, leave no treasure behind.
Mychael responded, his passion, his need matching my own. Any fear of the present and uncertain future faded to nothing. All that was left was him and me, taste and sensation, both delicious—both dangerous. His hands slid down my arms and around my waist and back, crushing me against him. A fire flickered and caught between us, familiar to me, new to him. Mychael’s breath caught when he felt it, but he didn’t stop. Instead he pulled me closer, as if he would wrap himself around me, shielding and protecting me. The fire was the Saghred, but it wasn’t alone. Overshadowing it, forcing it aside, was another fire, white-hot, pure, and unrelenting, burning bright and searing the darkness away from me.
His magic. Mychael.
I saw a light through my closed eyelids, and felt a glow, a warmth down the length of me, of both of us, wrapping and entwining, joining us together. I slowly parted my lips from his and looked up at him, my pulse absurdly loud in my own ears. We stood there, our bodies touching, our breathing the only sound. Mychael’s breathing was ragged as he gazed down at me in wonder—and in expectant hope.
“I’m a Benares, remember?” My voice was low and husky. “If we see something we want, we take it. ”
“Do you see something you want?”
“I’m looking right at him. ” My mouth was suddenly dry, and I tried to swallow. “Do you want me?” I told myself it was a stupid question, but I had to ask. I needed to hear him say it.
His hands were on my shoulders and he slid them down to just above my breasts. “I’ve wanted you—and loved you—since the moment I woke up in that bedroom in Mermeia and saw you standing in the corner. ”
I think my heart stopped for a few beats. “Loved me,” I heard myself say.
His hands slid down farther. “Loved you. ”
He was wearing only his uniform trousers. I was wearing way too much. I reached up to unbutton something, anything, but I was suddenly at a loss as to where to start.
Mychael caught my hands in his. “May I undress you?”
“Okay. ” I suddenly felt shy, awkward.
“Are you sure?” His deep voice rubbed against me like hands in velvet gloves, sending a delicious shiver down through my belly and lower.
“No one’s ever undressed me before. ”
Mychael grinned. “I have, but you weren’t awake for it. ”
I was awake for it now and then some. I wrestled my way out of my sword harness, then I let Mychael take it from there. Truth be told, my hands were probably shaking too badly to undo my doublet’s buttons. Mychael made short work of them, and shorter work of the buttons on my shirt. Then he slowly pulled my shirt and doublet aside and stopped, staring down at me. The room wasn’t cold, so I didn’t have any excuse for my breasts tightening and nipples hardening except for the truth. They wanted to be touched and they wanted it badly.
Mychael bent and wrapped his arms around my hips and lifted me off my feet. When his lips closed around my nipple, the shock of sensations made me gasp.
He raised his head and my mouth took his, tasting, delving, devouring, and he backed to the bed, one arm holding me tightly against him, the other exploring, kneading. The backs of his knees bumped against the edge of the bed and he sat down, pulling me with him. I opened my eyes and looked at him. I’d seen his eyes darken before
, but nothing like this; his pupils were dilated so much that they were dark pools that I could fall into, wanted to dive into.
Mychael’s fingers were spread wide under my shirt and against my bare back to touch as much skin as possible. I unwrapped my arms from around his shoulders and dropped them to my sides. Mychael didn’t need me to say what I wanted him to do. He reached up with his other hand, grabbed a handful of my doublet and shirt at the back of my neck, and pulled them down. They came halfway off, then stopped, snagged on something just below my elbows.
What the—“Dammit . . . hold on. ”
Mychael’s lips were busy on my throat. “Daggers,” he murmured, his mouth working its way down to nip at my breast and lower still to pull on my nipple.
A sweet shiver ran through my body, ending with an unbearable ache between my legs, and I suddenly forgot how to breathe or what the hell daggers were.
Mychael’s mouth and tongue and hands paused from doing those wonderful things they were doing. “Daggers,” he said again, and went back to sucking and rubbing and kneading and teasing.
A tiny part of my mind that wasn’t dazed from sensation shouted at me what the rest of me couldn’t remember. Daggers. In forearm sheaths. Doublet can’t come off until they come off, stupid.
“Oh . . . wait. ” I wiggled my doublet back up on my shoulders and with shaky hands unfastened the cuffs and reached inside. I pulled off one sheath, then the other. Only then did I look at Mychael. “There,” I almost panted. “Try again. ”
He did. He grabbed my doublet’s leather in both fists at my shoulders and, in one smooth move, pulled it and my shirt off and threw both across the room. Nice.
I pushed him back on the bed, kissing him again, deep enough to taste the tannins of the Caesolian red he’d had. I tried to shift my hips to get closer to him, to satisfy that ache. I still had my trousers and boots on. This was a problem. A big one. I swore silently, but the only thing that made it out of my mouth was a whimper.
