“Does this mean you want complications?”
“I want you,” she said, forcing the words out of her tight throat. “I can’t think about the complications because all I can think about is you. So I guess that means the complications don’t matter as much as I thought they might.”
She looked so nervous, Xan realized. He understood it completely. From the moment he’d glimpsed her wandering aimlessly in his direction, he had been dealing with all sorts of nerves and anxiety. What if she was coming to tell him that she had made her decision and she wanted him to stay away from her? What if she told him the opposite?
But now, as she stared at him, need and nerves warring in her cat’s eyes, he decided none of it mattered. Not right now. She wanted him. That was what counted.
Doubts tried to rise inside him, but he shoved them away. Nothing mattered in just this moment. Save her.
Slowly, he slid his blade into its sheath and tucked the small bit of wood he’d been working into one of his pockets. Then he pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand.
She placed her hand in his and stood. As small as it was, there was strength in that touch. Her palm was calloused, her nails brutally short and naked. Lifting it, he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse leaped at his touch and he felt his own do the same in response.
She twined their fingers and tugged on his hand. “Come with me.”
“Where?” he asked, lifting a brow. Not that it mattered. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked. That realization should have shaken him to the core, and it might—later, when thoughts of touching her, when thoughts of mounting her sleek, slender body weren’t threatening to drive him mad.
A feline smile curled her lips and she murmured, “Being one of the people in charge does on occasion have its benefits. I’ve got my own dormer. As charming as your bunkmates may be, I’d rather not have an audience, and I’m also not much for having sex in the grass. Leads to bug bites.”
“I love the way you think.”
He followed along beside her and tried not to rush. He had no idea where her dormer was; otherwise he might have scooped her up and run the entire way. Need pounded inside him, pulsed in tandem with his heart and echoed through every fiber of his being. How in the hell was it possible for a walk to take so long, and how was it possible that he grew more aroused with every step?
Every fucking step.
He grew more aware of her, noticing how her chest rose and fell as she breathed, noticing how gracefully she moved. The way the faint light glimmered on her hair, dancing off the blue-black highlights.
What in the hell was taking so long? Did she have a dormer built on the other side of the mountains?
Then they reached it, and abruptly, he realized he didn’t know if he was ready to do this. Didn’t know if he should. Somehow, he knew deep inside that touching her would be unlike touching any other woman in his life. She was unlike any other woman, with her strength and her confidence, yet there was vulnerability that was also part of who she was.
Once he touched her, once he had her, could he let her go?
Did he even have a chance of keeping her? Deep inside, the answer to that question made itself known. No. He could never keep her . . . and he shouldn’t even think of touching her.
Then she tipped her head back and smiled at him and all those questions faded away into nothingness. It didn’t matter. In that moment, only she mattered. She led him inside, and the moment the door shut behind them, he grabbed her and whirled around, pressing her up against the door.
Over the past three days, he’d envisioned how he might handle it if she came to him like this. A slow, careful seduction—that had been his ultimate plan.
But plans often fell apart, and his had just crumbled. Slanting his mouth against hers, he fisted a hand in her short, dark hair and tugged, arching her head back to deepen his kiss. She opened for him even as she worked her hands between them and went to work on the utility vest he wore over his tunic. It went flying across the room and then she reached for his belt. Heavy with his knife and other weapons, he should have handled it with more care but he had no patience, no finesse, as he nudged her hands away and all but ripped the blasted thing off. It fell to their feet and the rest of their clothes followed.
When he had her naked, he forced himself to take a step back. He needed to see her, needed to at least once see that slender, strong body completely. His chest heaved as he gritted out, “Bed.”
“No.” A smile curled her lips and she reached for him. “Here.” She drew him back to her and reached up, twining her arms around his neck.
Xan groaned and cupped her hips in his hands, lifting her. He braced her back against the door and leaned into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, an action that opened the soft, sleek folds of her sex.
He nestled his cock against her heat and rocked against her. They both shuddered. The scent of her rose to tease him. Hot. Musky. Perfect. Ripe . . . Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head and muttered, “Are you . . . Should we . . .”
He couldn’t think—
Her lashes drifted low. “I won’t get pregnant if that’s your concern. Unless there are other concerns . . . ?”
“No.” No. Other than that, the only concern he had was just having her. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, steadied himself and pressed against her. Then he stilled and shifted his grip, catching her knees over his elbows and lifting her, opening her.
“I want to see,” he muttered. “Want to watch as I take you.”
She whimpered, a hungry female sound that did bad, bad things to his already shaky control. Then she lowered her gaze, and they both watched as he entered her. She was wet and slick, but tight, flowering open around him as he forged deeper.
By the time he had buried his throbbing dick completely inside her, they were both sweating, both shaking, and Syn was making hot, sexy little sounds deep in her throat. Hunger rode him, hard and demanding, but he resisted the urge. This wasn’t going to last long enough as it was, and he needed it to. Needed more than a fast, quick fuck that ended nearly as soon as it began.
So instead, he withdrew as slowly as he’d entered. And he continued to watch her. Her mound had tight, black curls. Her clit, swollen and red, peeked out from the folds of her sex. And where she stretched so tight around him, her flesh glistened with dew. His mouth watered, and if he had any semblance of control, he might have pulled away and gone to his knees before her, pressed his mouth just there to see if she tasted as hot, as sweet, as he thought she would.
She whimpered and strained against him, arching in his arms. “More,” she demanded. She didn’t wait for him to respond, though, sliding her hand down, her slender, pale fingers seeking out the stiff bud of her clit and stroking it. The sight of her touching herself had his balls drawing tight against him and he swore as hot and cold chills raced down his spine. He let go of her legs, groaned as she wrapped them around his hips. Then he caught her wrists and pinned them over her head—if he had to keep watching as she stroked herself, this would end far too soon. Excitement flashed in her eyes even as she jerked against his hold.
He smiled at her and leaned against her, carefully tightening his hold and watching as her lashes fluttered over her eyes. “You like that, Captain?” he teased, dipping his head to rub his mouth against hers.
She responded by biting his lower lip, then sucking it into her mouth. “More,” she demanded. Then she clenched around him, using her internal muscles to milk his cock.
Buried inside those snug folds, his cock jerked demandingly. Growling against her mouth, he said, “Stop—I want this to last.”
“Why? We have all night.”
“Excellent point.” Then he let go of his fragile hold on control, riding her soft, sleek body and listening as she sobbed out his name.
Her breasts flattened against his chest, her nipples tight, hard points. The muscles in her belly spasmed and cl
enched and she trembled. All over, she trembled, shuddering as though she might fly apart in his arms.
He wanted that—just that—wanted to watch her fly apart and be there to hold on to as she came back to herself. Back to him. Letting go of her wrists, he worked his arms around her body and caught her, held her close.
His climax rushed up on him, demanding—insistent. He felt her tightening, felt the tension mount in her body just as he felt himself falling, faltering. Her arms wrapped around his neck, held him, just as securely as he held her.
“Come for me,” he rasped. Please . . . before I fall alone.
But it wasn’t necessary because even as he whispered the words, she was flying apart in his arms, a low, hungry moan falling from her lips. It rolled through them both, echoing, emptying them both.
Everything else fell away and for him, there was just her.
Just her.
Hours later, they lay on her narrow bunk. He had his back to the wall, with her wedged between his body and the edge of the bunk. It shouldn’t have been comfortable. Not one bit, but Syn was rather certain she hadn’t ever felt this satisfied, this right, in quite some time. Possibly ever.
She felt warm. She felt safe. She felt wanted. And that ache in her heart didn’t even feel like a memory.
She rarely lingered with a lover once the moment passed. All she had ever looked for was a brief escape, some pleasure, some release of the tension that built inside so many of them who had spent most of their lives on the front line of a war. After that was done, the silence that often built was uncomfortable.
This, though, this felt right.
Utterly right. In a way, it terrified her. Not enough, though. Because she couldn’t imagine pulling away from him just then.
He nuzzled her hair and murmured, “It is getting late.”
She glanced at her windows. Her internal clock told her what time it was without her bothering to check her timepiece. “It’s already late, past midnight.”
“Should I leave?”
She covered the arm resting around her waist and hugged him. “Hell no.”
She could almost hear the smile in his voice. Then he nudged her backside with his cock. Even as tired as she was, even after making love with him three times, she felt the heat once more begin to build. “If we stay like this all night, will either of us sleep?”
“Yes.” She glanced over at him and smiled. “We should sleep now . . . so we can wake up and do it again before the day starts. Morning sex is always a great way to wake up the brain.”
He chuckled and nudged her again. “My brain is already rather awake.”
But then he tugged her a bit closer and Syn snuggled back until not even a whisper of air could come between them.
As she drifted off to sleep, she decided she’d been right.
No matter what, this night had been worth the complication.
FOUR
It was too much to hope for that his gear hadn’t been discovered.
In under a minute, Dais knew that his belongings had been found and confiscated—Morne, Kalen and the lot, no doubt.
A snarl twisted his face, but he didn’t linger. He couldn’t risk it. If they’d found his gear, it was likely somebody might still be watching the area. He’d done a search around the immediate perimeter, but lingering was foolish.
He had other caches hidden within the forest and nearby mountains. He’d find one of them, gather his weapons, and take a bit of time to lay down some sort of plan. A good, solid plan—he needed one that had a half a chance of working, and he didn’t even know if it was possible.
If he didn’t turn Lee over to the Warlords, they’d kill him.
If he was caught by the rebels, he’d wish they’d kill him. Ishtan’s people rarely resorted to torture, but somehow he doubted Kalen would be satisfied with a quick death when it came to Dais.
Losing himself in the trees, he began following an old, rarely used trail. It was a familiar one. It would lead him to an area well outside the range of the army’s patrol, a place where he could rest easy for a night, possibly two, while he developed some sort of plan.
“You can do this,” he muttered. He’d managed the impossible for decades—evading discovery for his people as he fed information to the enemy. Surely he could get his hands on one mouthy witch.
There were times when Laithe envied the people of Ishtan. His kind eschewed any form of technology—the Warlords and their people had risen above such pursuits. They were above the petty wars that often tore worlds apart, the power struggles, the inability to care for every last soul in their world.
The perfection of magic—that was the ultimate desire of his people.
But Laithe possessed only Gate magic, and it was useless here. He was neither sorcerer nor seer—he had no ability to see the future, no skills to rival the talents of the Ishtanian witches. All he could do was manipulate Gate energies, and since the Gate’s collapse, that gift had been rendered useless. He could feel the energies, but he could no longer touch them.
However, he could have a great deal of use for some of the technology used by those in Ishtan. The ability to send word back to his fellow Warlords in just moments—ah, yes, that would be useful.
He kept to the shadows, silent and still, as he watched the traitor. Warlords had superior eyesight and he used it now to keep watch on the man from a safe distance. This far away, Dais couldn’t hear him, couldn’t smell or see him.
But Laithe wasn’t such a fool to think the man was unaware of him. Despite his arrogance, the traitor hadn’t survived all these years by being careless. Laithe knew of the man. Until yesterday, he hadn’t known the man’s name, but many of those who’d served the High Lord’s family knew that Raichar Taise had a spy within the rebel army.
Now the spy promised to deliver a female Warlord. One who had the blood of both Warlord and witch in her veins and could harness both powers. It was unthinkable, so far outside the realm of possibility that Laithe couldn’t understand it.
He wouldn’t put it past Dais to lie, but there had been nothing of a lie in the man’s eyes, in his scent, in his voice, when he’d made his claims. Either he truly believed in the existence of some female Warlord . . . or she truly did exist.
The daughter of Raichar Taise.
Laithe idly stroked his fingers against the stone he wore around his neck. It barely pulsed at his touch. Once, it had held enough power that it had throbbed, all but vibrated under his touch.
That power was useless now, scattered. Lost in the chaos of this world’s tumultuous energy.
Witches could touch that power. Harness it. Calm it.
A female Warlord with a witch’s power . . .
The possibilities.
There were times when being in charge had its benefits; Syn had no doubt about that. Having a private dormer was absolutely one of them, and one she’d put to her advantage over the past few weeks.
But there were also times when it absolutely sucked.
She pored over the reports, even though the numbers threatened to make her eyes cross. Her dormer also served as her makeshift office, and she’d been stuck inside it for half the day, trying to figure out if she had enough men to safely send a unit back east for supplies.
They needed more material—for weapons, for clothing. Food would be nice—they had plenty to eat, but what she wouldn’t give for some sort of variety. She was tired of the basic rations they existed on. It was supplemented to some extent by the food found by the hunting and gathering parties, but Syn had no idea how long much longer that would last.
True to their goals, the rebel army had focused on culling the demon population, and as expected, the demons had ramped up their aggressiveness. It was getting too dangerous outside the walls—how much longer before Kalen decided they couldn’t afford to send people outside the gates for food when they had rations inside the camp?
If they couldn’t drive the demons back . . . “No. We’ll find a way,” she mutt
ered, forcing her thoughts away from that path. They’d figure something out. They had to.
“Focus on the supply report, girl.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, ignoring the grumble of her belly. She’d missed the noontime meal, and none of the food she had in her dormer appealed. She’d almost sell her eyeteeth for a cache of sweets she had to share with no one. Greedy—she was absolutely greedy.
There was a knock at the door, and she absently called out, “Come in.”
The door opened, and she didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. Heat rippled through her and she looked up, found herself lost in the dark depths of Xan’s gaze.
Although her heart stuttered under that look, she forced a smile and kept her voice calm as she said, “Yes?”
A smile curled his lips and he lifted a small bit of paper. “A message from Gunner.” Gunner—a nickname for the old bastard that ran the weapons detail.
She grimaced and muttered, “It had better not be bad news. I’m already trying to figure a way to get the supplies he needs.”
He crossed the floor and handed it to her, eying the reports spread across the scarred surface of the narrow table she used for a desk. “You haven’t been outside much today. Is there a problem?”
She shrugged and said, “Not a new one. Just trying to cover everything we need to cover.” She winced and reached up, rubbing at the back of her neck. Numbers made her eyes cross.
Xan lifted a hand and nudged hers away, covering her neck with his rough, broad palm. He did nothing else until she leaned back into his touch. Then he lifted his other hand and started to massage her shoulders and neck. Syn groaned and her head fell forward.
“You are tense.”
She slitted her eyes and glared at the paperwork that lay there. All but mocking her. “I hate numbers. I have to juggle the numbers. The problem, though, is that they aren’t really numbers. They are people. Have to figure out a way to send a unit back east without losing any of them—which means a larger contingent has to go, but we can’t send so many it leaves us spread too thin here.”
Veil of Shadows Page 7
