by Jessi Gage
“Pity,” she cooed, letting her head fall back on his shoulder. “It seems I shall have to remain in my dressing gown.” She turned in his arms, making him wish he was not holding an elaborate gown so he could crush her to his chest. “Or wear nothing at all.” She lowered her lashes. When they lifted to reveal her eyes, unmistakable hunger shone forth.
By Danu! She was tempting him! And according to what he’d learned from Giles, her motivation was pure. With her memories lost, she had no reason to mislead him in this.
Caring not one whit for the gown, he closed his arms around her slender form, garment and all. She felt delicate held to him like this, but so right. Their bodies were a perfect fit for one another.
Pin pricks of pleasure cascaded over every inch of him. His body hadn’t sung like this for a woman in—he couldn’t remember how long. Perhaps never. The rustling of abused fabric only heightened his arousal. If only there were time to stoke that pleasure higher, to stoke hers as well! How he longed to show her what it would be like to become his mate! He would ensure that if her memory returned she would be bound to him by the knowledge of how well he could please her. She would be unable to reject him again.
“I would enjoy nothing more, my lady, than to spend the afternoon appreciating your natural, radiant beauty. But I am afraid we have an appointment, you and I.” Regret was a blade to his gut.
Tonight, he vowed. He would show her tonight. And by the moon, nothing—and no one—would stop him.
“An appointment?” The hunger in her eyes gave way to excitement. “With whom?”
He was right to assume she would want to be included. Her bright curiosity confirmed it.
“With my advisory council, my war chieftain, my priest, and,” he stroked a thumb over the paw print on her cheek. “Your sister.”
He watched for any sign of recognition on her lovely face, but there was none. Only innocent interest. “You speak of Anya.”
He nodded, annoyed he would have to release her in order to dress her. But to see her nude again...
“Well, I cannot meet my sister in a dressing gown.” Apparently, she was thinking the same thing. One delicate eyebrow arched, and a grin pursed her lips. It was a wholly un-innocent expression.
“No, you cannot,” he agreed.
“What are we to do then?” Her voice dipped into husky tones that belonged wrapped in silken bed linens and luxurious furs.
His face lowered to hers. The act of breathing the same air felt natural, even necessary. “I shall have to take on the role of lady’s servant, I suppose. Though you deserve one much more experienced than I.”
She raised her face, bringing their mouths within a hair’s breadth. “As you’ve said. And as I’ve said, I expect you shall make up for it with your experience in other matters of the bedchamber.”
He could not form words, so powerful was his wanting of her. Instead, a feral growl ripped from his throat. Dropping the gown, he seized her head with both hands and descended on her like the raving beast she roused in him.
* * * *
Two thousand years. That was how long it had been since Danu had been blessed with a lover’s kiss. There were so many questions she had, so many things she must learn in order to thwart Hyrk, but the sensations roaring through her new mortal body eclipsed all else.
All that mattered was the king possessing her with his kiss and the passion sparking between them.
Intimacy. How she craved it after so many lonely years in cold and darkness! What a treasure it was to be wanted like this and to want in return!
She’d created her precious wolfkind to require companionship. They could not thrive alone. Neither could she. Though she could not die, loneliness had diminished her these past centuries. Pieces of her moonsoul had shriveled and curled in on themselves like fallen leaves. No single kiss, no matter how perfect, could replenish those desiccated pieces of her. But the intensity of Magnus’s affection for her—and hers for him—gave her hope.
She drank of Magnus’s kiss. He took her mouth savagely, as if his very existence depended upon this connection with her. His hold on her shouted possession, his fists clenching the silk of her dressing robe. He’ll ruin the fabric, she thought with delight.
She returned his ferocity with her own. Her hands clutched at his back, fingers like talons. Her tongue tangled with his, each vying for dominance. The battle was delicious. They would both prevail in the end.
Lust smothered all other cares. It shone like a hedonistic star. Take pleasure. Enjoy. Thrive.
Kissing was no longer enough. Her mortal body thrummed with need so potent it would not be denied. Unbidden, mewls of desperation escaped her.
Magnus received them and gave them back in fierce, private growls. Their sounds mingled in their open mouths. The vibrations drove her lust higher.
Memory failed her. She could not recall a time when she’d needed anything so intensely.
“Take me,” she commanded between kisses. She pushed away from Magnus to tear the dressing gown off her burning body. Her sex throbbed, and only this man could sate her.
Magnus’s chest heaved with his quickened breath. His irises had shrunk to sharp halos of golden light. His pupils expanded to drown her in their warm, welcoming depths. “Nothing would please me more.” His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “But there is much to be done, and I will not be rushed when I take you the first time.” Pain etched his strong features. His desire was more than apparent, and yet he denied her.
She stared, dumbfounded. He was telling her no. He needed her as badly as she needed him. She was a goddess, and had commanded him to quench the flames licking at both their bodies. And he denied her.
She should be furious. But she was not. In fact, admiration took the fire under her flesh and changed it into something she could live with. Because he spoke true. There was much to be done. He was wise to understand that his kingdom was in jeopardy. In denying what they both burned for, he was putting his people first. She understood this. He was taking his duty seriously.
As she had failed to do that day with Lachlan and Jilken. She had wagered with Hyrk and reduced the mortal ruler of her people to no more than a horse in a footrace. Guilt overwhelmed her. How inadequate she was as a goddess! Her father must be so disappointed in her.
“Shh, no, my lady.” Magnus cupped her cheek and kissed sweetly at the corner of her mouth, which she realized was pursed in displeasure—aimed squarely at herself. She had so much to make amends for. She’d left her people defenseless while she wasted centuries upon centuries in her enemy’s dungeon.
“It has been so long,” she said, despondent over her failure. Her once thriving people faced extinction because of her foolishness. It was a wonder this king still had faith in her. She certainly didn’t deserve it.
Her self-loathing turned to determination. She would make amends. She would destroy Hyrk once and for all and shower blessing after blessing upon her people. She had two thousand years of wrongs to right. Only then could she bear to face her father again.
Strong arms folded around her. Magnus’s bearded chin rested atop her head. His warmth strengthened her resolve. She was not alone in this fight. Magnus knew of Hyrk, though she had yet to determine how much he knew. Together, they would overcome the vile demigod. She vowed it in her heart.
“It will have to be even longer, I am afraid,” he said, unaware of the battle she’d begun mentally preparing for. “But do not despair. Tonight, I will give you all you seek. And then some.” A cocksure grin dimpled his bearded cheek as he set her away from him and recovered the dropped gown.
He thought she’d said, “so long” in relation to having a man in her bed. And he attempted to reassure her. He cared that she suffered the effects of unsated lust. However misguided, his caring caused a tingle of something new and tender to bloom deep inside. The sensation was small but so precious, so novel. She longed to experience it again and again.
“Now, sweet lady, I shall at
tempt to dress you without ravishing you. Think you I can accomplish such a feat?”
She shivered, but not from cold. In fact, between the heat of the fire and the warmth from Magnus’s body, the cold from Hyrk’s dungeon was well and truly banished. Her skin pebbled under the golden gaze raking over her. Her nipples hardened to stony points. With nothing more than his voice and that gaze of his, Magnus had rekindled her lust.
But that would wait. Until tonight—she would hold him to his promise. But for now, if she was to become the goddess she had failed for so long to be, she needed to learn all she could about her present-day people and the threat Hyrk posed to them.
Above all else, she must find her moonstone. Only then could she return to her true form and leave this fragile, mortal body. Only then could she wield the power she would need to slay her enemy once and for all.
“I think you can,” she answered as Magnus began to swath her in filigreed fabric and lace. “I am beginning to believe you can accomplish anything you set your mind to.” And so could she, even in this temporary mortal body.
Chapter 10
A council meeting was no mundane event at Glendall, Danu observed. Once Magnus had her clothed in a winter gown of sumptuous embroidered silk and draped in a luxurious cloak of mottled boar hide, he’d ordered Daly to summon a lady’s servant to brush and style her hair. While they waited for a servant to come, Magnus submitted to Daly’s hurried grooming and donned a crimson sash which fastened at his throat with a broach fashioned from gold and rubies. The fine piece depicted a roaring lion with a book beneath one paw and a full moon resting in the palm of the other.
When no servant lad appeared, Daly took on the task of seeing to her hair. He sat her on a stool before a bronze mirror, brushed out the tangles, and twisted sections into piles that formed a delicate crown. The whole time, he muttered about the servant lads becoming spoiled.
Finished with her, Daly draped a cloak around Magnus’s shoulders. The inky black set off the crimson in his war kilt, making him look both commanding and dangerous.
“Are you ready, my lady?” her king purred. The heat in his eyes proved he hadn’t forgotten his promise about this evening. If only he were asking whether she were ready for that. She would launch herself into his arms and command him to take her to his bed that very moment. But he was only referring to the council meeting they were now late for.
She shivered at the promise in his gaze, but her voice was steady when she said, “I am.”
“Come, then.” He crooked his arm in an invitation she accepted. They strode together to a nearby room with a large fireplace and a grouping of comfortable looking chairs and couches at the far end. Closer to the entry, a rectangular table dominated the space. This part of the castle had not existed in Lachlan’s time, but she recognized the chamber as an extension of Magnus’s bedchamber. This would be where he took his meals, relaxed, and, as was happening now, where he held private meetings.
As Magnus led her into the chamber, the five men she counted around the table stood and saluted their king with fists over their hearts. Three of them sat along one side, and each man wore different styles of clothing.
The largest had broad shoulders and a gray beard. His weathered face had seen many years, and his dark eyes had seen many battles. A war kilt made a slash across his barrel chest. The wool was fastened over his heart with a broach similar to Magnus’s but depicting a lion standing as if locked in battle with a silver crescent moon. While she had not recognized Magnus’s symbol, this one she remembered from the time of Lachlan. The warrior was a Knight of the Crescent moon, one of the king’s personal guard. It pleased her to see this tradition had stood the test of time.
Beside the knight stood a slim man in what she assumed were civilian clothes. A silken jacket covered a tunic with a high, lacy collar. The man’s gray-streaked hair was tied back, emphasizing his high cheekbones and pointed ears. His beard was darker than his hair and trimmed into a tidy vee.
Next was a willowy man in brown robes. He bore no facial hair, and the hair atop his head was shorn close to the scalp in the style of priests. He wore spectacles that failed to sit perfectly straight on his nose. In his hands, he held a rumpled head covering, removed, no doubt, out of respect when the king had entered.
On the table’s other side were two men and one woman. The first man was an older warrior with gray hair. He lacked the symbol that would have marked him as a knight. He must be the head of Magnus’s army.
The second man possessed such significant height and breadth that the chair he had risen from appeared like child’s furniture in his shadow. His hair tumbled over his shoulders in dark curls, and he wore the kilt and broach of the Knights of the Crescent Moon. His dark brown eyes followed her as Magnus drew to a stop at the head of the table. She had seen this knight before. He was one of the riders who had escorted her and Magnus to Glendall.
Between the two men sat a petite woman whose gaze had sought Danu’s since the moment she’d entered the room. She wore a gown much like the one Magnus had dressed her in and had her chestnut waves pinned up into pretty loops atop her head. Scars like claw marks slashed across her cheek.
Instantly, Danu knew the woman was not wolfkind. Her smaller bone structure and dainty mouth were the fabled features of humans. Danu had never spent time with humans, but she’d heard many tales, some flattering to the mortal race, most not. This was Anya. Seona’s sister.
Lines of worry creased Anya’s forehead. Her eyes, similar in color to those of the warrior beside her, were liquid with concern. Her pinched mouth appeared to be reining in a hundred questions. The warrior took her hand and whispered something in her shell-shaped ear. Whatever he said seemed to relieve some of her anxiety.
Danu had looked forward to meeting Anya, the human who had slain King Bantus, but now that she stood in the same room as the small warrioress, she felt something she had rarely before experienced. Nervousness. Her stomach clenched and swooned as if she were soaring above the landscape and had taken a sudden dive.
She was glad for the distraction when Magnus drew an empty chair from the side of the table and placed it next to his at the head. “You will sit by my side,” he said, easing her down.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” She may have been imprisoned for the last two millennia, but she remembered her courtly manners.
The men around the table looked on, expressions ranging from surprise to disbelief.
Anya’s gaze sharpened. A shrewd expression eclipsed her worry, and Danu received the impression that Anya did not miss much. Danu would have to be careful around her. With Hyrk on the loose, it was imperative the demigod remain ignorant of her whereabouts. If Anya guessed something was amiss, she could ruin everything, including Danu’s plan to discover what, exactly, had happened to Seona.
“At ease,” Magnus said in his clear, commanding voice.
Those around the table resumed their seats.
Magnus did not sit. Rather, he remained standing behind his chair, which was elaborately carved where the others were plain. “Ladies and gentlemen, Marann is under attack.”
He’d already had the attention of everyone around the table, but this statement honed that attention to a sword’s point. Her chest puffed with pride that her king commanded a room with such confidence.
“Not from Larnian invaders. Not from outlaws or bandits. Not from within, due to political infighting.” At this, he cut a glance to the smartly-dressed man, who arched an eyebrow in response. “Our new enemy is like nothing we have faced before.” Giving those in attendance a chance to soak in this dire news, he arranged himself in his chair, his posture impeccable.
“As most of you know by now, Lady Seona absconded from Glendall this morning—by all accounts—of her free will.” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, as if he expected this declaration to upset her.
Danu joined the others in giving Magnus her rapt attention, so eager was she to learn what had led to Seona’s fall fro
m a cliff.
All eyes were on her as Magnus continued, except for Anya’s. The human woman fixed her gaze on Magnus’s hand, where it remained on her shoulder.
“Unfortunately, she is unable to give testimony as to the events leading up to her flight, having suffered memory loss after a head injury. What we do know is—”
Anya gasped, interrupting Magnus. Leaning forward as if she would crawl across the table to get to him, she cried, “You told me she was unharmed! You lied! Seona, how do ye fare? Tell me all that has happened.”
Danu tensed, glad for the large body of the dark-haired knight between her and Anya. She had no answers. She honestly didn’t know how Seona fared. For all she knew, the human could have passed through the veil and be lost to the afterlife. As for the rest, Danu hadn’t been in this body during the events Magnus described. She was as curious for the answers as Anya.
“Lady Seona has seen Giles,” Magnus said. His glare carried a world of warning, but Anya did not appear cowed. “She has been declared healthy and hale with the exception of her memory. Now, I will not be interrupted again, Lady Anya. Your presence at this meeting is not required. Understand?”
Anya returned the king’s glare but nodded. The knight by her side closed his eyes and shook his head.
“As I was saying, we know the prisoner Bilkes was an accomplice.”
“Bloody degenerate mutt,” Anya muttered. With a start, she seemed to remember herself. “My apologies, Your Majesty.” Somehow, she managed to look sheepish and petulant at the same time.
Magnus’s mouth quirked. He gave no other indication he had been interrupted. “How and when Seona made contact with Bilkes we must discover. I will not abide vulnerabilities in the security of our ladies or in the keeping of our prisoners. Maedoc—” He addressed the elder of the two knights. “This is your top priority.”
