by Lara Adrian
Already he was growing hard, his manhood stiff and straining in his braies. When she bent down to kiss his mouth again, Kenrick could not contain his groan of animal need. But he did not pull her to him as his want for her would have him do. He let the sensual dream proceed at its own pace, fearing it would not last, and praying it would never stop.
Through the lustful daze of the kiss, he felt Haven's fingers stray down his belly, trailing over the muscles that ribbed his abdomen, and lower still. Her palm smoothed over the top of his breeches to the thrusting ridge of his arousal. She stroked him wickedly, knowing his body's rhythm, stirring his desire toward the breaking point.
Kenrick arched his hips to meet her sensual caress, willing the dream to take him further. He needed Haven's touch. He wanted her, even now, despite her betrayal.
He felt the ties of his breeches, then his braies, tug loose in her fingers.
"Criste... yes..." he heard himself hiss as her warm hand curled around his unfettered shaft. "Don't stop."
She said nothing, but continued to stroke his fevered flesh. God help him, but she did not stop, not even when he was full to bursting, shuddering under her hand and not a hairbreadth from spilling his seed in her palm. He had never known such raw need. No woman had ever commanded him as Haven did--in his dreams or waking. And he cared not which this was before him now. He knew only that he needed her, that he had to have her.
"Please," he begged the moonlit witch who had since poised herself astride him in the dark. Her naked thighs straddled his hips, a few cruel inches separating him from the paradise of her warmth and the release that only her body could give him. "Haven," he whispered, "sweet witch...take me inside you. Let me feel your heat all around me."
Her smile was wistful, sweetly sad. With her teary gaze locked on him, she slowly seated herself, sheathing the full length of his sex inside of her. God's love, but for a dream, she was searing hot and wet as she contracted around him, coaxing him into a pleasurable tempo as she rode him in the quiet darkness of the glade.
Kenrick watched her move atop him, each grind of her hips, each subtle withdrawal, tightening the leash of his control. The tether she held him on was thin and growing thinner. She knew it, the crafty witch. She knew how close he was to losing his hold, and she delighted in the wicked torment.
He felt his climax building, rising, bunching at his core. Haven held his gaze and took him deeper. The tight glove of her body clenched hard around him, contracting, the quickening of her release demanding his own.
He could hold it back no longer.
With a throttled moan of pleasure, he spent himself, surrendering all control to the midnight vision of his lady of fire. Trembling with the force of his release, he needed to touch her, to hold her, to know the softness of her skin pressed flush against his own.
In defiance of the rules of the dream, Kenrick reached out to her.
His hands settled on hips that were warm and pliant under his fingers. He squeezed her tighter, waiting for her to dissipate to vapor as she had every other night she had come to him in his dreams. But she did not fade away. She did not mockingly leave him in silent laughter and mist.
"Haven," he said, disbelieving as he came up off the ground and caught her in his arms where she yet straddled him. "I thought I dreamed you here."
She made a desperate sound in the back of her throat and tried to move away, but he held her firmly. It should not please him so to be holding her again, but it did. Too much, he thought, when the sting of her deceit was still so raw, the ramifications of that deceit yet undetermined.
But she was truly there with him, not a dream, though she lay under the dark skies like heaven in his arms.
And the tears that glistened like starlight on her cheeks were not illusion, either. They, too, were real.
She swiped at them with impatient fingers, struggling beneath him. "I must go. I should not have come here, not like this."
Kenrick rolled aside to let her up, watching as she hastily dressed. She glanced back at him, her gaze meek, apologetic.
"This was a mistake--"
"If it is, 'tis but one among many we both have made," Kenrick replied, feeling no regret for what they had just shared.
"No, this is different. Each moment I delay here puts you in greater risk."
He laughed at that, finding it ironic that she would be concerned with his wellbeing after all he knew about her now.
"It is true," she said quietly. "I don't expect you to understand."
When she turned away as if she would leave him there without a further word, Kenrick got to his feet with a curse. He grabbed his breeches and tugged them up over his hips, then caught her by the arm before she could take another step. "What wouldn't I understand? That no matter what we have shared, you are sworn in deadly service to Silas de Mortaine? Or that you are playing me still, even now?"
Her downswept gaze was not swift enough to hide the note of regret in her eyes. "You have every right to hate me, I know that. But know this too: I am here not because I mean to deceive you in any way. That was never my intention. Nor did I come here to make love with you."
"Why, then?" he asked, cautious to see what seemed true emotion in her clever shifter gaze.
"Please--Kenrick, I am a danger to you. Now more than ever."
"Now I at least know what you are. That is a benefit denied me all the time you were deceiving me in my keep...and in my bed."
She wrenched out of his hold with a small cry. "Let me go."
"What is your hurry, sweet witch? Does your clan await word from their spy of where I am?"
"'Tis nothing like that--"
He scoffed. "What makes you think I'll believe that you are not prepared to lead de Mortaine and his minions to this very spot so they can finish me once and for all? Mayhap they are already here, laying their trap while you seduced your fool one more time."
"Can you really think so little of me?" She looked up at him with earnest, tear-filled eyes. "I would give anything to take back what has come between us--all of it. I would never betray you to anyone, not for any reason...because I love you, Kenrick. I love you with all my heart."
How cold would that heart have to be to tell so deep a lie with such evident conviction? Kenrick let her claim sink in for a long moment, saying nothing to accept or refute it. The very last thing he needed was to involve himself with Haven again--not when he was this close to finding another of the Chalice stones.
And yet...
How hard it was to look at her now, when his body was still warm from loving her, her scent yet clinging to his skin like the most exquisite perfume. How hard it was to see the distress in her soft features, the sorrow in her eyes, when time stretched out and he remained rigidly silent, unable to decide how he felt in that moment.
"I cannot go back to my clan now," she said quietly. "I am changed because of you, Shadowed by the love I feel for you. There is no turning back. I have betrayed a covenant of my kind, and that betrayal is what puts you in danger when you are with me. I came here tonight to say good-bye in the only way I knew how. But more importantly, I came here to return something that belonged to you."
He frowned, uncertain at her meaning until his eye strayed over his things and caught the faint glint of moonlight on metal. He bent down and reached for the satchel he had been using as a bolster while he slept. Sticking out from beneath the flap was an object he thought never to see again. He picked up the item and held it under the pale glow of the moon.
"The seal," he said, astonished to feel it as real in his hand as Haven herself had been not a short while ago, pressed against his bare skin.
"Le Nantres had it."
"Jesu...how did you manage to get this back from him?"
"Aye, wench. How did you manage?"
Kenrick glanced over his shoulder to find Rand standing but a few feet away from them, his sword gripped menacingly in his hand, a murderous look simmering in his eyes.
Chapter 30
The last time Haven had seen so lethal a look in Randwulf of Greycliff's eyes, she had been stuck at the killing end of a dagger, her throat all but closed off by the punishing grip of his hands as he sought to squeeze the life from her.
That she was standing before him again, facing his thunderous rage, made her stomach coil with fear and a pained acceptance that she deserved all the black hatred he would deal her now.
"You," he snarled. "I thought you dead. By the blood of Christ, I had hoped you as dead and gone as my beloved wife and son, murdered because of you."
"What I did to you and your family is unforgivable," she admitted. "You have every right to wish me dead."
"Wish it?" His bark of laughter was short and rife with loathing. He took a menacing step forward, raising his sword. "Nay, shifter. I'll do more than wish it now."
Haven forced herself to remain where she stood, prepared for Greycliff's wrath. But to her surprise and Rand's obvious confusion, Kenrick stepped in front of her. He guarded her with his body, placing her behind him in a protective, sheltering stance.
"Step aside, Saint. You cannot know who--or rather, what--it is you mean to defend. This black-souled beast brought my family's deaths. She crept into my home like a vermination, befriending Elspeth with her witch's potions and binding spells. She is a shifter, as vile and treacherous as they come."
"I know who she is," Kenrick answered soberly. "And I know what she has done."
"You...know this? If that be true, then how can you put yourself near her? God's blood, Saint. How is it you can move to protect her?"
Kenrick's voice was stern, unyielding. "Put down your weapon, Rand."
"I will have retribution for my family's lives--not even you can stand in the way of that. This shifter wench will pay."
"Stand down--" Kenrick began, reaching for his own weapon.
Haven halted him with a softly voiced command. "Kenrick, no. You needn't defend me in this, my lord. Nothing can. Your friend is right; I am responsible for his loss."
Rand stared at her as if waiting for her to wield her shifter's magic. Haven took a few steps toward him, dismissing with a shake of her head Kenrick's advice to keep her distance while Rand was still holding his weapon at the ready, his chest heaving with rage.
"I'm sorry for what happened to Elspeth and Tod. I cared for them, too."
"Lies!" he scoffed.
"I know you won't believe me, but it is true. I cared for them, and that is what brought my clan to Greycliff that night. You see, they were hunting me--with as much determination as they hunted for the Chalice secrets you were keeping for Kenrick. I was sent in to spy and to recover the seal, but I did not report back as I was instructed. De Mortaine became suspicious, and he sent a number of shifters in to find me. My ties to my clan are severed completely. I cannot ever go back to them."
Rand snorted in rejection. "Why should you be trusted? Because you can put a tear in your eye and declare to feel affection for something other than your accursed Dragon Chalice? It would take no magic to do that--only a lying tongue and a lack of mortal conscience."
"What I've told you is the truth. Would that I could bring them back to you--I would do it. I would trade my life for theirs, were it possible."
"Spare me your empty sentiment," he scoffed. "Tell me, can you feel loss, shifter? Can you feel remorse?"
Haven's gaze slid toward Kenrick for an instant before returning to meet Rand's hard stare. "Yes. I know loss. And I know remorse like a pit of darkness I may never climb out of." She nodded her head, reflective in her silence. "I know regret...as deeply as I have come to know love these past precious days."
"What about you, Saint?" Rand looked at him now. "You seem to know her better than I could say. Do you believe her?"
Kenrick's stoic expression was unreadable, but he inclined his chin in agreement. "She has brought the seal from le Nantres. No matter what else she has said--to either of us here tonight--she has delivered the boon we needed. She had no need to bring it, and she did so at great personal risk."
Rand's voice was hard with skepticism. "How can you be sure this is not a trap?"
"It is no trap," Haven interjected. "I am here to help you. My word is my honor. I stake my life on it."
"Aye, you do," Rand agreed, refusing to be swayed so easily when his heart clearly ached for all he would never again have. "Your life is at stake, lady. For if this be a shifter trick, and we find ourselves circled by de Mortaine and the rest of your hellborn ilk, you can be sure of one thing. You will be the first to die--by my hand."
"I am here in earnest," she vowed, her gaze turned to Kenrick. "I give you my oath."
He seemed to accept her word, his expression solemn, but lacking some of its previous cool edge. There was a note of forgiveness in his eyes, and, she hoped, a small measure of trust. She might never win back that particular precious gift, but this was a start.
Kenrick sheathed his sword. "Time is wasting. The Chalice treasure is what matters now. What say you, Rand?"
For a long while, Greycliff did not move. Then, slowly, his hazel eyes flaring with scarcely banked fury, he relaxed his stance before them. "We've come too far. Let's do this. But Saint--she comes with us. Whatever your feelings, I don't trust her out of my sight for a moment."
"No," Kenrick said, slanting a concerned look at Haven. "It might be dangerous for her in there. If one of the Chalice stones is in that chapel--"
"It's all right," she interrupted, knowing he sought to protect her from the deadly power of the Dragon Chalice, yet loath to come between the two friends any more than she had. "I'll go with you to the chapel. I want to be with you."
A muscle ticked in Kenrick's stern jaw as he held her gaze. A string of denials played in the dark blue of his eyes, but he voiced none of them aloud.
With a nod, he simply said, "Then let's go."
"Remember my promise, shifter," Rand warned in a toneless whisper as she made to walk past him. "Cross us, and you are dead."
* * *
The three of them entered the chapel on the tor, Kenrick keeping Haven near him despite Rand's grudging acceptance of her. He did not worry that his friend would lash out at her in cold blood, but he knew Greycliff well enough to believe that the threat he issued outside would be made good the instant he scented trouble.
Kenrick could not completely absolve Haven of her deception in the time she was at Clairmont, but he shouldered much of the blame himself, for it was he who brought her there, he who allowed her into his life. Even if he struggled to credit the depth of her feelings toward him, he did believe her when she said she cared for Rand's family. He had seen that in her as her memory had been returning at Clairmont, before she knew her true origins. She cared for Ariana, and despite her Anavrin roots, she had become a part of the fabric of Clairmont.
Kenrick could not fault Haven for the legacy of her shifter birth, but he saw no room for himself in the world she inhabited. Nor for her in his.
Her words came back to him as they lit torches and entered the empty chapel. In the afterglow of their lovemaking, she had professed to love him. She had then confessed to Rand that she knew the taste of loss and regret. That she had returned with the seal after the way Kenrick had left things with her at Clairmont--after the way he had driven her off in his own explosion of blind rage--seemed evidence enough that she was an ally and not an enemy to be kept under suspicion.
Still, his reason warned that she was yet a shifter. Perhaps controlled more by her Anavrin blood than any bond she claimed to feel for him or anything else.
He prayed he could trust her, for if she proved him wrong this time, he doubted any one of them would live to walk off this hill at the end of the night.
"This way," he said, leading them into the square space of the nave.
Their torches cast shadows in every direction, filling the small chamber with a bright orange glow. Kenrick strode to the wall that contained the arch between nave and chancel, raising his light
out before him. The flame played over the intricate etchings, illuminating the tracery design that he and Rand had discovered upon their arrival.
"The design of the seal matches it perfectly," Haven said. "Two circles, intersecting over a cross."
"But where does the seal fit?" Rand asked. "There must be nearly a hundred like symbols. Which will show us to the Chalice stone?"
"We'll try them all," Kenrick said.
He handed his torch to Rand and approached the slab of carved stone. It looked to be a simple enough thing, until he placed the seal against one of the symbols and realized it was a close fit, but not quite. He tried another and met with like frustration. It almost seemed as though the designs shrank the barest fraction the instant he laid the seal against them, preventing him from finding the key symbol.
"We will be at this all night," Rand remarked when he had tried a dozen or more without success.
Kenrick was inclined to agree. He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. "They all look to be a perfect fit, but none are."
"Let me try." Haven held out her hand. "Please. I want to try."
Kenrick placed the seal in her upturned palm and watched as she cautiously approached the dizzying network of designs.
"What are we looking for, Saint?"
Kenrick shook his head. "I'm not sure. Perhaps a hidden room, an alcove that might hold the Chalice stone...I cannot be sure, but I know it is here."
Haven studied the symbols in silence, her head pivoting from one end of the design to the other. She was thoughtful, deliberate, as if she trained her Anavrin senses to guide her to the correct place to set the seal. At last she had decided.
"I think I see the one place it will fit," she said, glancing back at Kenrick over her shoulder.
