by Jill Monroe
Don’t let yourself be alone with me.
She closed her eyes and steeled herself against the hot wave of desire that coursed through her. The pleasure and the thirst for his touch narrowed her focus to only him. Her warrior. Osborn.
She licked her lips, finding them swollen. Breena lifted her fingers to touch where he’d touched. To trace along her bottom lip the spot he’d nipped.
Don’t let yourself be alone with me.
A powerful warning. An order. And Breena had been raised to be an obedient girl. She’d never broken a rule or voiced a disagreement. Looking over her shoulder, she stole a glance at that man who’d issued what basically amounted to a threat—to her body. She began to shiver.
Osborn stood watching her. More like stood guard. His arms were crossed against his chest, the muscles coiled and ready for combat. His wide-legged stance instantly instilled caution to any observer.
I’ll chase.
Run you down.
Render you defenseless.
He didn’t care that he still stood naked. A flutter tickled her stomach. She’d never seen what made a man a man before, and she couldn’t help but look. That part of him stood out and seemed to rise higher and bigger under her inspection.
Her imagination played with the idea of taking off at a run. He’d chase. He’d catch her. She’d be helpless against his strength. And while he’d threatened her with death a moment ago, she knew that was the last thing he wanted to do to her. He did want to do things to her. Forbidden deeds. She shivered again. Her skills were few, but along with hairbrushing there was the reading of people.
And she could read this man.
Probably the only weapon she had against him.
He was angry. He saw himself as betrayed by her and by his very dreams when he was at his most vulnerable. To a man like her warrior, such a thing was probably unforgivable.
She had to make him forgive her. It was the only way to get his help. Breena desperately needed his help, but, even more, she wanted him to choose to help her now that she’d kissed him. Been held in his arms. She craved that almost as much as she needed his skills as a fighter.
Breena had longed for this man. Ached for him. And now he stood just feet away from her…despising her. And wanting her with a heat that made her stomach dip in excitement.
Osborn’s expression grew fiercer. His face was as hard as the stone that made the walls of her bedchamber at home.
Her fingers stilled. A new image…a memory of her home. And it came without pain. A rush of images and feelings nearly overwhelmed her. A peaceful kind of hope settled in her chest, and she smiled, barely realizing she was still staring at Osborn.
His hands fisted, and the muscles of his legs bunched as though he was about to stalk over to her and help her dress. Or remove what she’d already donned. Her mouth went dry, and she turned away, quickly returning to her task.
The thoughts of her home gave her peace, but menace tinged the calmness and the longing. She tried to concentrate, grab the memories, which seemed to be fluttering just out of her reach. This time the pain splintered behind her eyes, and she stopped trying to recall the elusive thoughts of home. But she’d try again. She’d managed to survive another day. She’d found her warrior, and soon she’d understand why she was so far away from her family.
She tugged on the rest of the clothes Bernt and Torben had given her, although tugged wasn’t really the right word, since the garments still hung down past her fingertips, and she had to roll the pant legs up several times. Osborn was dressed in half the time it took her, and for that she was grateful. How was a girl, long shielded from males, supposed to react when encountering a naked man? And one so beautifully made? She still had to suffer staring at the broadness of his back, and how the pants clung to his seat. Was a woman supposed to find a man’s backside attractive? She’d heard the maids in the castle gossip about a man’s flat stomach, speculate on the largeness of his feet, or discuss the strength of his arms, but never specifically his— “Hurry.”
Startled, Breena met Osborn’s gaze. Caught.
“We have a good ten-minute walk back to the cottage, and the sun will be setting soon. I want to be prepared if those things come back.”
She nodded, and quickened her pace. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her gawking at his body. “And, Breena…”
“Yes?”
“You can look at that later. All you want.”
Why did that sound less like a threat and more like something she’d want to do?
THE BROTHERS STOOD OUTSIDE the cottage examining the waning daylight as they approached. Osborn had led the way, with her following close behind. The boys looked a little shocked to see her beside Osborn. Curiosity radiated from their young faces, and they loped down the stairs to meet them in the clearing.
“Did you see that thing in the sky?”
“It got all dark.”
“What happened to your arm?”
Both boys spoke at once, and she smiled. Her brothers when they were younger also charged all over each other’s words.
Her breath came out in a gasp, but the three males didn’t seem to notice. Another memory without pain. Were her brothers safe? Where were they? Dayn had been outside, and Micah… She tried to picture his sweet face and remember. Something about his nanny. A shaft of pain forced her to stop digging for the memory of that night. It seemed she could recall the events much easier when she wasn’t even trying. Perhaps she shouldn’t try to force anything. Maybe she could ease into her past like she did her dreamhaze. Relax, picture a door in her mind and, instead of a dream, walk into her past.
“We were attacked.”
Torben and Bernt didn’t miss the emphasis Osborn placed on the word we. Subtlety was apparently not one of his skills. The brothers glanced at each other, and suspected they would have rolled their eyes if Osborn hadn’t been standing right there.
“We sent them away.”
“Just like you said,” Bernt defended.
“I found her splashing around in the lake. That’s where we were attacked.”
“What were those things?” Torben asked.
“Scouts. Created by blood magic. I’ve seen them before, but only once.”
“I’ve never seen anything by blood magic,” Torben said, excitement lacing his voice.
A little too much excitement. Osborn glared down at his younger brother. “Pray that you never do.”
“There’s rumors you can hear the cries of the souls of whose blood was taken,” Bernt added, clearly not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
Osborn’s face turned grim. “It’s a sound I have no wish to hear again.”
“Their shrieks were horrible,” Breena added, and she couldn’t repress the shudder. She didn’t know if the wailing came of the soulless or not, but she recognized misery, unbearable pain. So evil…
“That’s because you are a girl,” Torben replied. He turned his attention back to Osborn. “I guess they didn’t shriek for long after you were done with them.”
Breena bit back a smile at the pride the youngest brother felt over Osborn’s prowess and fighting skill. Micah had been the same about Dayn and Nicolai.
Another thought of home without pain. Yes, the key was to let it flow naturally, and not work too hard.
Osborn cut a quick glance in her direction, then focused once more on his brothers. “I, uh, didn’t have my pack.”
“But, Osborn, you’re never without your pack,” Torben said. The boy sounded incredulous.
“You always keep it within reach.”
Did she see a hint of color along Osborn’s cheekbones? He cleared his throat and crossed his arms against his chest. What kind of move was that? It was as if he were trying to shield himself. Finally the man didn’t have the upper hand.
“Yes, Osborn, why did you have your pack so far away?” she asked sweetly.
His brown gaze narrowed. “Turns out I didn’t need it,” he said between clenched teeth.
She met his stare. “Oh?”
Osborn shrugged. “Breena killed the beast.”
Breena stood a little straighter. Yes. Yes, she had killed the thing. Of course, she had the help of a little magic.
The two boys stared at her for a moment. Then Bernt began to laugh. His younger brother quickly followed. Breena might be wearing borrowed clothes, not have much memory, but she knew one thing…she didn’t much care for being laughed at.
The energy she’d felt at the lake began to swirl within her.
“Ouch,” Torben said as he backed up a step.
Bernt stopped laughing long enough to look at his brother. “What— Ouch!”
“It’s like someone pinched me right on the as—er, backside,” Torben said.
Osborn cut a quick glance her way, but he didn’t look angry at her use of magical powers.
“What was that?” Bernt asked as he rubbed his rear.
“Looks like you just got a taste of what those blood magic scouts received.”
Both boys glanced her way, their faces going from incredulous to betrayed. Then both boys slammed their attention back to their older brother.
“But you said girls were good for one thing. And that wasn’t magic or fighting.”
Now it was her turn to turn her attention to the big man at her side. “And what one thing is that?” she asked, almost afraid to know.
Osborn’s expression turned blank. “Cooking.”
“Cleaning,” the boys said at the same time.
Osborn shrugged. “I guess there were two things.”
She shot him a look full of venom. She’d never even glanced at another person in a cross manner in her life. Half a day in this family’s presence and she was shooting energy daggers. At least he didn’t suggest to these two boys that girls were only good for what happened once the chamber door was closed. Especially since her body was the only thing Osborn had showed much interest in when it came to her.
“You can’t take help from a girl,” Bernt said. “A warrior defeats alone.”
Osborn dropped the pack at his feet and draped an arm over the shoulders of his brothers. He bent his knees so he’d be on eye level with them.
“There’s no shame in a man accepting help from another warrior, even if she’s a girl.”
All this talk was beginning to fray on her nerves. Her father would be lost without his wife. The queen and her husband always stood side by side. He listened to her counsel, and shared the responsibility of ruling. At least Osborn seemed to have an inkling of how it was supposed to work. Unfortunately, he hadn’t shared that with the two boys he was responsible for until apparently this moment. Her magic began swirling again, but she quickly tamped it down.
“Let’s get inside. I’m hungry, and Breena has a lot of questions to answer. Bed after supper. I’m taking Breena into the village at first light.”
“To the village? Can I go?” Bernt asked.
“It’s been so long since you’ve taken us to a town.”
Osborn shook his head. “Not until I know the threat.”
The two boys slumped, then lumbered up the stairs. She was hungry again, too. Strange how the body had a timetable all its own. Her family was lost, she’d wandered around in a wilderness, been attacked, and yet, she could eat like it was any normal day.
“Why do your brothers think so little of girls?” she asked when they were alone.
His gaze lowered to her lips. Then fell to her breasts, and her nipples tightened and poked at the material of her shirt. “If you tell yourself a woman is good for only one thing, then you don’t miss all the other things you desire from her.”
His voice was filled with yearning, and so much loneliness she lifted her hand to cup his cheek.
His fingers grasped hers. His palm was callused, his grip tight, reinforcing her earlier musings that he hadn’t spent a lot of time with females.
“Remember what I said? About not being alone with me?” he asked, his expression fierce.
She nodded, unable to take her eyes off his lips.
Osborn lowered his head, his mouth just an inch from her ear. “You’re alone with me.”
A warning, a threat, a promise… His words were all three. A shiver slid down her back. She squeezed her eyes shut tight as the soft touch of his tongue traced the curve of her neck.
“Breena?”
She nodded, wishing for more of this kind of caress. Wishing he wouldn’t send her away in the morning. Wishing for so many things lost. “Get inside.”
Breena slipped out of his unresisting arms, and shut the door firmly behind her. She slumped against the rough wooden door, dragging in air and willing her heartbeat to slow down.
Survive.
Revenge.
She’d do both with Osborne’s aid. Her dream magic was not wrong. Now all she had to do was get him to see it, too.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Torben whispered. “She touched him, and he didn’t even yell. Or push her.”
Bernt nodded. “I don’t think things are ever going to be the same again.”
CHAPTER SIX
DINNER WAS A SIMPLE meal of tough bread, dried meat and berries she suspected were picked near the cabin. It was also completely silent. At Elden, dinner was a grand affair, with numerous courses, entertainment and lots and lots of laughter. Here, the three males regarded their food seriously, heads over their plates, and eyes steady on their meals.
“Does anyone know a funny tale?”
Bernt looked at her as if she’d suddenly begun speaking in another language. Her father always told such funny stories about his travels as a youth. Her mother could charm anyone with her tales of legend and myth. Nicolai told a great joke about a traveling king, a chastity belt and a trusted knight complaining about the wrong key.
Her gaze darted to Osborn and she felt her cheeks heat. She’d always thought that the funny part of that joke was that the king handed over a key that didn’t fit. Now she realized it was the knight trying to remove the chastity belt and that the king had purposefully given the wrong key—that was what made the tale funny.
Breena would smack her brother when she saw him. She’d told that joke at least three times. A pang of homesickness chased away her anger. No, if she ever saw Nicolai again, she’d hug him.
“Do you know a funny story?” Bernt asked.
She was alive, she was safe for the moment and her belly was finally getting full. One meal. Breena could snatch one meal, and not worry about her brothers, her home or how she was going to survive tomorrow. Pushing the plate aside, she lowered her voice to that same conspiratorial tone her mother’s took when she was about to relay something interesting.
“Well, did you hear about the king of Alasia who was most displeased with his fortune-teller?”
Both boys leaned forward. “No.”
“He told the king his favorite horse would die. And sure enough, the animal fell dead two days later.”
“Fortune-tellers aren’t real,” Torben said, his voice turning skeptical. She could only imagine where he’d acquired that attitude.
But Breena only gave what she hoped amounted to a mysterious shake of her head. “The king didn’t trust him, either. In fact, he suspected the fortune-teller poisoned the horse so that his prediction would come true. That way, people from all over the kingdom would know of his skills, and give him money to relay their fortunes.”
“What happened next?” Bernt asked.
“The king confronted the fortune-teller and dared him to reveal the date of his own death.”
Bernt was practically squirming in his chair. Had no one told these boys stories? “Why?”
“Because the king was going to kill him,” Osborn said.
Breena smiled over at the clever warrior. “Your brother is right. The king would kill the fortune-teller so that any answer he gave would be wrong, and no one would remember him.”
Torben was off his chair raising an imaginary sword. “So what did
he do? Run or challenge him to battle?”
She bit her bottom lip. No wonder her mother had so much fun telling stories around the table. “He did neither.”
“What?” both boys asked.
“He looked the king in the eye, and said, ‘I don’t know the exact day of my death, but I do know that the king will follow me to the grave just two days later.’”
Osborn began to laugh, the sound of it delightfully rusty. She glanced his way and their gazes met. The desire in his gaze made her smile fade. Oh, she knew he wanted her body, but some other need for her lingered in his brown eyes. Her lips parted, and some elemental part of her wished to give him what he hungered for.
“Time for bed,” he told his brothers without breaking his stare.
“What?”
“It’s still early.”
Osborn sighed heavily. “You’ll need your rest if I decide you can go into the village. If.”
The brothers scrambled to clear the table and head into the room where she’d found the three beds earlier, and in just a few moments, she was alone with him. Again.
“Join me by the fire,” he said. It wasn’t much of a request, and when he offered her his hand, there was no way it could be disguised as courtly manners. She was going to sit next to him by the fire and she would be telling him everything he wanted to know.
Every great hall held a large fireplace, and even though the cottage was small, Osborn’s hearth seemed to dominate one entire wall. An inviting, fluffy rug lay before the large, flat stones in front of the firebox. She sank down on the throw, seeking its softness. It was thick enough to be a sleeping pallet. Osborn’s brothers had added extra blankets. At home, most people slept before the fire, warmed their hands near the flames and danced in front of it during celebrations and heated their ale over it. Osborn seemed to prefer to stare into it. Glare.
“You’ll be leaving here at first light.”
Was he telling her or himself? He’d already announced he’d be taking her to the village in the morning. It was all decided. Wasn’t it?
