She cocked her head. “Dude, I hate to tell you this, but blood is not flammable. The lamp can’t do anything with your blood but get wet.”
His gaze flicked up with a lift of his brow. “’Tis why it is called a magic lamp, aye?”
A magic lamp. Right. “You really think it needs your blood to work?”
“I asked the ring to show me and almost immediately felt the cut on my wrist. Have ye another thought?”
“I suppose not. But you’re losing a lot of blood.” And he was. He swayed ever so slightly, but she saw it. “You’re getting pale. Talon, seriously, screw the lamp. If we don’t get a tourniquet around your wrist, you’re going to bleed out and die.”
His gaze flicked to hers once more, a small charmer’s smile playing at his mouth. “And would ye miss me?”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Considering you and your ring are my only way home, I’d have to say yes. I’d miss you terribly,” she added dryly. But, God help her, she would.
Starting to feel a little frantic, she stared around her, trying to think of what she could possibly use to stop the bleeding. In the movies, the heroine would simply rip off a strip of her shift. Right. This shift was pretty damned thin, so it would probably rip easily enough. But what if it ripped the wrong way ... right up to her navel? Or was there something about the way the fabric was made ... the bias or something?
She knew squat about sewing. More about first aid and Talon was seriously bleeding too fast.
“I need a knife, Talon. Now,” she snapped.
The look he threw her was tinged with impatience, but he dutifully pulled a knife out of his boot and handed it to her, hilt first. While he bled into the lamp, she lifted her skirt and hacked at her shift until she finally had the bottom strip free. She stared at the frayed remains with dismay. In the movies, the strips always came away neat as a pin.
Dropping the knife on the ground, she grabbed his forearm, above the cut, but when she tried to pull it toward her, he turned a look on her of pure granite.
With a huff, she let go of him. “Talon, it already has enough of your blood. You need the rest.”
“If it had enough, I wouldna still be bleeding.”
She stared at him as comprehension slowly stole over her.
“Since the ring cut you, it will also mend you when you’ve bled enough?”
“Aye.”
“Great.” She sat back on her haunches with a disgusted sigh. “You could have mentioned that before I destroyed my nightgown. I hope the ring has the sense to heal you before you die.”
He cut his eyes at her, a smile pulling at his mouth, but said nothing more as the steady stream of blood slowed to a drip, then finally ceased altogether.
“Is it over?”
“Aye.”
She let out an impatient groan. “At last. Let me see your cut.”
To her surprise, he gave her his hand without argument. Instead of using the strip of linen as a tourniquet, she used it to wipe away the blood from around his wound, needing to see for herself he was healing.
Sure enough, the cut had closed as if it had been healing for days. She seriously needed to get one of those rings.
“Healed, is it not?” he asked drowsily.
Her head jerked up and she looked at him. “Your arm’s healed, but you’re not.” He was white as a sheet. “Talon, you need to lie down before you pass out and spill the blood from your lamp.” Damn. She dropped his hand onto his thigh and grabbed up the bloody lamp before he did just that. She set the lamp on a rock on the other side of the narrow cave and hurried back to Talon’s side before he pitched over. Though how she’d stop him was beyond her. He must outweigh her three to one.
“I’ll be fine in a thrice.” But his words were soft, his eyes unfocused.
“You’re going into shock.”
She grabbed his strong jaw, leaving bloody fingerprints on his skin as she tilted his face to where she could get a good look at him. “Don’t pass out on me, okay?”
His eyes focused on her, slowly gaining in intensity until the look in them started doing things to her insides. Hot, quivery things.
“A kiss would make me feel better,” he mumbled.
Julia rolled her eyes. “A kiss would send all the blood rushing to your groin, which would do nothing to help you stay conscious, Braveheart. No kisses.”
Oh, but the thought of feeling the sweep of his tongue in her mouth again sent pleasure rushing through her body. If she didn’t turn her thoughts, she was going to be as light-headed as he was.
Without warning, he listed forward, right into her arms.
“Talon.” She grabbed him, the solid weight of him almost too much for her. “I’m going to push you back and lay you down, okay? You need to lie down.” Thank goodness he was already sitting on the ground. If she had to get him off a stool or a rock, they would really be in trouble.
One hand behind his head to cradle it, she pushed him back. He looped an arm around her waist and took her down with him. He settled back onto the floor of the cave with her locked on top of him, her cheek pressed against his.
“Talon, let me go.”
“Wheesht, lass. Quiet now. I’ll be right as rain in a few moments, but the feel of you eases me. Let me hold ye, Julia, until the cave stops listing, aye?”
She tried to lever herself up, but dizzy or not, his strength was like steel.
“Shh, lass. Quiet now.”
With a sigh of frustration, she gave in, relaxing against him as best she could, but she was too far forward. There was no way to rest her head except to press her cheek to his. Which she finally did. His sleep-warmed scent stole through her senses.
His lips pressed against the lobe of her ear, sending a shiver of pleasure running through her body. She opened her mouth to admonish him, then closed it again knowing it wouldn’t do a bit of good. In a few minutes, he’d be recovered. She hoped. Then he’d let her up. Once again, she hoped. There was no telling what might happen with this man.
His lips moved, pressing against her neck just below her ear. His warm breath sent excitement churning in her blood.
As his injured hand slid into her hair, the arm that pinned her loosened, his hand sliding down to grab her rear. A dose of cold reality dampened her desire.
“That’s it. You’re fine.” She pushed against his chest. “Let me go.”
Amazingly, he did. As she scrambled out of his reach, he sat up and then dipped his head between his knees.
She was kneeling at his side a moment later. “Are you okay?” Without consciously intending to, she pressed her palm against his back in case he passed out.
He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Aye.” His face was still too pale, but not the scary white of before.
“You’re getting your color back. That’s some seriously potent magic, Talon.”
He nodded once, an enticing blend of mischief and warmth lighting the blue depths of his eyes, doing funny things to her insides. “I thank ye for seeing to my wound.”
“You’re welcome.” She felt off balance again. How could he knock her feet out from under her with every look, every smile? It was so unfair.
To her dismay, he moved as if he intended to try to stand.
Julia clamped her hand on his shoulder. “What do you need? Let me get it for you.”
“The lamp.”
“Wait here.” She jumped to her feet and retrieved the bloody lamp, then set it in the dirt in front of him.
She settled, cross-legged, on the ground beside him as he tried to light the macabre thing, wanting to be close enough to snatch it away, or grab him, if he started to get faint again.
When the fire flared, nearly bursting from the lamp, she gasped and reared back, staring with disbelief. She’d never really expected him to be able to light the blood.
“It worked,” she said with surprise.
“Of course.” He tossed her a quick grin. “Like magic.”
Julia rolled her eyes
.
Talon leaned forward. “Show me where to find the Fire Chalice of Veskin.”
Almost at once, something started to happen. The same oddly warm tingling she felt every time Talon called his magic ran over her skin.
A picture formed in the flames, a surprisingly clear picture of a castle—a lovely castle with a pinkish cast to the stone and four large towers, one of which was round.
“Look at it,” she breathed.
“I dinna recognize it,” Talon muttered. “Show me the nearest town.”
The castle disappeared. Moments later, a new picture took its place. A small village, this time, from the vantage point of someone walking right through the middle of it. It reminded her, in a way, of Williamsburg, Virginia, with its row of painted shops squished together. A sign above one of the stores read Jamie McBean, Merchant.
“Bollocks,” Talon muttered.
“Do you recognize it?”
“Nay, I do not.” He took a deep breath and let it out on a frustrated huff. “Show me ... how to get there from here.”
As before, the village disappeared. Moments later, another scene arose. Nothing but trees and bushes, looking just like ...
“That’s the view outside the cave,” Julia said.
“Aye,” he said with some asperity. “’Tis clearly the direction we must travel, though a bit more help would be appreciated. This lamp is almost as troublesome as the ring,” he grumbled.
Julia looked up at him. “Can I try one?”
Talon met her gaze and nodded. “Aye.”
She leaned forward, belatedly realizing she’d gripped his thigh at some point, and snatched her hand back. Chewing on her bottom lip, she debated how to ask the question she had to know. Her pulse began to thrum. Finally, she simply blurted the words.
“Show me what I have to do to get home.”
But the scene of the woods outside the cave remained. Nothing changed. Nothing happened. Time stood still as she held her breath, waiting.
The lamp wasn’t giving her an answer. Either that or it didn’t have an answer to give.
A cold, damp sweat crawled across her scalp. Please, God. Please don’t tell me I can’t go home.
Talon’s gaze swung to Julia as she stared at the flame. He was still feeling a bit light-headed from the loss of blood, but far less so than moments ago. When the ring’s magic injured him, it healed him just as quickly. Now it was Julia whose cheeks had paled. And not from lack of blood.
No. The flame was refusing to answer her query, and she was reading much into that. Her fearful thoughts were clear in her eyes.
He squeezed her shoulder lightly, feeling the need to reassure. “It may mean naught, lass.” But what if her fears were founded? What if the lamp’s refusal to show her how to get home meant she wasn’t going home?
The dismay he expected rose inside him, but oddly muted. Conflicted. He wanted her gone, of course he did. He had no room for a companion in this life of his. And yet ... he’d slept better last night, with the lass in his arms, than he had in years.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to explore the reason for that.
Julia looked up at him, worry sharp in her eyes. “What do you think it means that it won’t answer me?”
“I dinna ken.” Talon turned to the flame. “Show me where to find the Fire Chalice of Veskin within the castle where it hides.”
Still nothing happened.
“Do you see anything?” Julia asked, breathlessly.
He met those pretty, mismatched eyes, and watched the flicker of hope spark in their depths. If the lamp now refused him, too, its lack of answer to her question no longer rang with the ominous knell it had a moment before.
“Nay. I see nothing.” He turned back to the lamp. “Show me the whereabouts of the men searching for you.”
Again, he waited and again, no scene arose in the flame. Then, as if doused with water from an invisible hand, the flame went out, casting them back into the gloom of the cave.
“Bloody lamp,” Talon muttered.
Julia laughed, the sound low and soft, and infinitely lovely.
He turned to her, bemused. “Ye laugh,” he said, enchanted. Clearly, his own lack of response from the lamp had doused her fears.
A smile playing at her lips, dancing in her eyes. “Sorry, but your calling it a bloody lamp struck me funny, seeing as that’s exactly what it is.”
Her smile called to his own, especially when her hand grabbed hold of his arm.
“But it’s more than that, Talon. Three wishes. Don’t you get it? Just like in all the fairy tales, your magic lamp gave you three wishes.”
“The questions,” he murmured.
“Yes. Its lack of response to my question didn’t mean anything. Magic lamps only ever grant three wishes.”
“My three, aye. But what about yours? Should it not have granted you three wishes as well?”
“It was your blood. Maybe if I filled the lamp with mine, it would give me three wishes, too.”
“Nay.” He took her hand and squeezed, running his thumb across her knuckles. “I’d not have your blood spilt.”
Their gazes caught. Her smile faded as something warm sparked to life in her eyes.
With his free hand, he reached for her, unable to resist the temptation. His fingers lifted and played with a silky lock of golden hair. “Yer a bonny lass, Julia Brodie, even when ye frown. But when you smile, you put the sun to shame.”
She broke the connection of their gazes, looking away. Yet she didn’t pull her hand from his. She didn’t leave.
“And when ye laugh ... I’m thinking the angels in heaven grow quiet just to listen.”
He sensed she wanted to reject his words, yet couldn’t. Not quite. Could she hear the sincerity in them?
He was a man adept at flattery, yet the words he’d spoken had possessed nothing but the truth. Had she heard it?
She turned back to him, her laughter gone. Her eyes were guarded, yet in their depths he saw a softness, almost a vulnerability, she’d not shown him before. Aye, she’d heard the truth in his words.
With his fingertips, he traced the fine lines of her face. Her cheekbone, her brow, her jaw. Her full, intriguing bottom lip.
He was a man adept at seduction, yet it was he who was seduced. By her beauty. By the fire that burned inside her—prickly and sharp, yet warm and strong. A fire that hid the vulnerability at her core and the sweetness he wasn’t certain even she sensed within herself.
She watched him, still as stone, as if transfixed by his touch. Had no one ever touched her like this? Did she ever let anyone get this close? His instincts said no, despite her assertion that she’d known many men.
As he’d held her against the chill and the dark last night, he’d tasted her on his tongue. Remembering their kiss had nearly driven him mad with longing for another.
That need rose fierce and warm inside him all over again.
His hand slid from her face and slipped behind her neck to exert only the tiniest bit of pressure as he slowly closed the distance between them. Beneath his hand, she tensed and he forced himself not to tighten his hold. His pulse raced, his blood heated, and he saw an answering flare in her eyes. He’d not push her this time. If she pulled away, he’d let her go. Because his body sensed the truth he wasn’t sure she was willing to confront.
Sooner or later, she’d be beneath him, welcoming him into her body. Whether she was ready to admit it or not.
The first touch of his lips on hers set fire to his blood. Heat surged through his veins, pressure rushing low, filling him. Hardening him.
If need had always been a calm burn, this was a stormy ocean. If lust had always been a fire, this was the sun.
She was sweetness and flame, softness and spice. And he wanted her with a desperation he could barely credit. Yet he knew if he pushed too fast, too hard, she’d only fight to get free. And he wanted her willing.
So he kissed her gently, coaxing this time instead of forcing. Offerin
g instead of demanding as his lips moved over hers with firm, yet soft insistence. It was all he could do not to gather her into his arms and lock her against him where she would never get free.
But his need was nearly out of control. He had to touch her.
Lifting his hands slowly, he gripped her small head, sliding his fingers into her silken hair as he ran his tongue along the line of her lips, seeking entrance to her mouth.
She answered his plea, parting those lips with a soft moan that stabbed him with triumph and desire. He swept his tongue inside her mouth and her lush, sweet taste swamped his senses. As she melted against him, surrendering to the passion that blazed between them, his control all but shattered.
Her tongue met his, sliding against his own, as her fingers dug into his hair. Barely holding on to control, he pulled her into his arms, his hands on her back as he resisted the desperate need to pull her tight against his body, tight against the erection that grew more painful by the moment.
He struggled for control, knowing if he pushed her too far, too fast, he’d lose her. Never had he fought such a battle. She was fire in his arms, honey in his mouth, lightning in his blood. Her breaths tore from her lungs as erratically as his, her heart beating in a rhythm as violent as his own. And he scented the sweet musk of her arousal.
Need slammed into him hard.
Never had he experienced such hunger from a simple kiss. He’d glimpsed it in the kiss he’d forced on her last night, this raging, dagger-sharp desire. But this time he’d gifted her with the reins, coaxing her to join him instead of forcing her to submit. And the effect was beyond anything he’d expected. Beyond anything he’d dreamed.
He felt her passion rising in the tense, needy lines of her body and the fine trembling of her hands as she clung to his neck. He felt her body heating in the way she melted against him, and in the small, restless movement of her hips. Whether or not she realized it, her body begged to be touched, stroked.
Filled.
Dear God in heaven, he wanted to be the one to fill it. Now. Here.
His hand moved from her back to her thigh, rubbing the firm, slender appendage through her skirts. His fingers burned to feel her soft, naked flesh.
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