As she talked, she slipped out of his arms and turned away. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “If I didn’t respect you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now,” he growled. “Do you want to know the truth? You scared me tonight. I watched you running straight into danger, and I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. And when you don’t take orders, and when you act like a loose cannon, I don’t know how to plan my actions around you. That’s what orders and acting like a cohesive fighting unit are for.”
Her eyes flashed with shadowed fire. “All that would be true, and I could take it, except you ordered me back to the house like I was a delinquent child. Maybe I could accept your orders if you treated me like you treat your other men.”
“You’re not my other men!” he roared furiously. “I’m not in love with any of them!”
She froze, then whispered, “What?”
“I said I’m not in love with any of them!” he snapped. All but flinging her wrist away from him, he pivoted away to pace. “Everything about you drives me insane. We have been arguing and sniping at each other from the moment we met. But then I started to like you. You’re courageous, funny and generous, and more beautiful than any woman has any right to be, and when we first made love…” He stopped pacing to run his hands through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts.
“Made love?” she murmured.
“Made love,” he repeated fiercely, turning to glare at her as if she might try to take the experience away from him. “When we first made love, I felt something I had never felt before. Instincts that I didn’t even know I had. I’m part Wyr, and I felt the drive to mate with you. So I left because that’s not what we said we were going to do that night. It was supposed to be an interlude of pleasure, nothing more. But then I couldn’t keep my damn hands off you. I still can’t.”
In the golden slant of light shining from the oil lantern, he could see the shock in her face. Her lips parted as if she would say something, but he couldn’t bear to hear it.
“Don’t worry,” he said bitterly. “I’ve thought it through. I’m not Wyr enough for the mating urge to kill me. You’re under no obligation to be concerned about it.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “So you’re not forced by the Wyr mating instinct to do something you’re not willing to do. You sound as if you don’t welcome it at all.”
“Everything I first said to you is still true.” Unable to look at her any longer and fight the pounding urge to take her back in his arms, he turned his back. “I’m in the middle of fighting a war, and I still don’t have anything to offer a lover—no safety, no home, not even the promise of my time and attention.”
Her breathing sounded harsh in the still of the courtyard. “Well, I guess we know where we stand now. You know what’s funny? I fell in love with you too, you jackass. Your commitment, your bravery, even your imperious attitude. It hurt when you walked out so quickly after we barely finished making love, but I went with it. You asked me to trust you when you said you had good reasons for walking away, and I went with that too. In fact, I’ve gone with all of it—the danger, the uncertainty, the fighting, and just so you know, your finer sensibilities for why you shouldn’t take a lover are outdated and delusional, because we’re probably not getting out of this house again alive. But you know what I can’t go with?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”
“I can’t go with how unwelcome all this is to you. How unwelcome I am to you. I can accept everything about you, even your worst, most imperious, biggest asshole moments. But you can’t accept me and who I am. You can’t accept the fact of me in your life, for however long or short that life ends up being. You can’t accept the fact that I might accept everything about your life, how restrictive it is and how dangerous—that I have the power and the ability to make that choice rationally and accept the consequences, whatever they may be.” Pausing, she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes before continuing raggedly, “So you may say you’re in love with me, but you’re not in love with me the same way that I am in love with you. We’re using the same words, but we are not having the same experience, and I’m… I’m not going with this any longer.”
As she said the last words, a footstep sounded in the hall behind her. Before Nikolas had consciously thought about it, he had drawn his sword and leaped to her side.
Gawain stepped out of the hall, into the light. The other man took in the scene at a quick glance—their tension, Nikolas’s drawn sword. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know there’s a hot supper when you’re ready.”
Sophie wiped her face as she turned to Gawain. “That sounds good.”
“We’re not done talking yet,” Nikolas said harshly.
She didn’t look in Nikolas’s direction. “Yes, we are,” she said. “We’re done.”
Bending to gather up her blanket, she stepped into the hall. After a brief hesitation, Gawain followed, leaving Nikolas standing alone in an overgrown courtyard filled with ghosts.
Chapter Eighteen
As Sophie followed Gawain back to the great hall, exhaustion set in, darker and heavier than ever. Not only did her whole body ache, but this time the exhaustion was emotional, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to access a second (third? fourth?) wind.
Back in the great hall, light, warmth, and a certain amount of order greeted her, along with the appetizing smell of hot food. Either they had constructed torches, or they had brought some with them, for lit torches filled sconces at strategic intervals.
They had shifted the Mini and the Harley so that they lined the outside wall, under the windows. Supplies were coordinated and stacked along the inner walls. There were a lot of supplies, so it made the remaining space that much smaller, but there was still enough room to create a small sitting area in front of the fire with the settee and chair and a dining area with the kitchen table that was extended with a few crates added to one end. Sleeping pallets lined the stacked supplies along the sides.
Automatically she counted the pallets and came up one short, but before she could ask Gawain about it, he nudged her shoulder. “Come over here, lass. Look what we did for you.”
Obediently she followed him to one of the two corners closest to the fireplace. He lifted a curtain stitched roughly together from the cottage curtains, and with one hand urged her to step inside. She complied and discovered they had created a tiny bedroom.
Two walls were the stone walls of the great hall, and the other two were built from crates and boxes of supplies. The double bed from the cottage was inside, and someone had even made it, complete with blankets and pillows. The bedside table held an oil lantern. Her luggage was stacked neatly at the foot of the bed, and the dresser was tucked in one corner.
The area was small and cramped, but it was private, and it offered a degree of comfort she hadn’t been expecting. “This is amazing and incredibly thoughtful,” she said. Her argument with Nikolas had left her feeling so raw she had to blink back tears. After giving herself a moment to recover by looking at everything, she faced him with a smile. “Thank you so much.”
Gawain hadn’t stepped inside. There wasn’t enough floor space to accommodate his large bulk in addition to hers.
Smiling briefly at her pleasure, he told her telepathically, Until we find out who the traitor is, Nikolas and I will be sleeping right outside. Nobody will get past us, lass.
Aloud, he added, “Well, you have enough walls for now. Eventually those will disappear as we use up supplies, but hopefully by then, we’ll either know if it’s safe to use the bedchambers, or we’ll have reached some other solution.”
“It’s wonderful. I love it.” Impulsively she gave him a hug. Looking surprised and pleased, he hugged her back.
“Come get yourself some supper. There’s oxtail soup and sandwiches.”
Oxtail soup sounded decidedly odd, but she followed him to the dining table, where she was greeted with friend
ly looks and a few smiles. Nikolas hadn’t returned yet, and abruptly she knew she couldn’t face him again that night.
When one of the men—Gareth, she thought—made as if to shift over to make room for her, she told him, “Don’t bother. I don’t mean to be unfriendly, but I’m so tired I can hardly stand upright. I just want to grab one of these sandwiches and go to bed.”
“No shame in being tired,” Gareth said. “You fought well tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“Wait,” Rowan said as he stood. He dug out a large mug, filled it with steaming soup from a camp stove, and offered it to her. “Take this.”
She accepted it, along with a sandwich, and retired to a chorus of good nights. Setting her food on the bedside table, she pulled the privacy curtain down, and her bedroom fell into shadow.
She had the brief impulse to light the lantern but then realized she didn’t know how, and suddenly the small task and her lack of knowledge became obstacles too big to overcome. Stripping out of her jeans and sweater, she crawled shivering between cold sheets. While she waited for the bed to warm up, she sipped at the soup, savoring the warmth and the rich, meaty flavor, and ate a few bites of the ham and cheese sandwich.
By then the worst of the chill had left the sheets, so she stretched out horizontally, and as she listened to the men’s quiet conversation, she plummeted into a black pit.
For a while.
Then she was running through the warehouse while the gunman chased her. She rounded a corner, looking for a way out, but it was a dead end. As she whirled to run the other way, the gunman walked around the corner.
He brought up his gun. She stared down the barrel and heard the flat tat-tat-tat as he shot her, and she was falling.
Always falling.
Rodrigo, she tried to call. Help me.
She plunged awake as a hand settled over her mouth. The men had gone to bed, and the indirect light from the fire had died down, leaving the space in near total darkness.
A figure leaned over her, weight pressing down the edge of the mattress, but before she had time to panic, Nikolas whispered, “Shh, it’s me. It’s all right.”
She gripped his wrist, shaking, and his hand shifted from her mouth to stroke the hair back off her forehead.
He said telepathically, You were having a nightmare and whimpering.
Unsurprised, she nodded. Sorry I woke you.
He exhaled, an impatient, nearly inaudible sound. Move over, Sophie.
She hesitated, torn between wanting to so badly she could practically taste it and remembering the bite of the last things they had said to each other. Her telepathic voice sounded small and uncertain to her own ears. Maybe that’s not such a good idea.
He brought his forehead down to hers. Let’s take a time-out. You still meant everything you said, and so did I. Let this be its own thing. We can go back to fighting again tomorrow.
Was that okay? Maybe that wasn’t okay. Maybe she was supposed to stay strong on principle, but he was here and offering, and principle didn’t have arms to put around her. Still trying to decide how she felt about it, she slid to one side of the bed.
Lifting the covers, he slid in beside her. Long, hair-sprinkled legs entwined with hers as he gathered her into his arms. The comfort was immediate and staggering.
She turned into him, burying her face in his chest while he stroked her hair. He wore nothing but a pair of silk boxers, she discovered, as she fitted her body to his. He was longer, broader, and more muscular than she, and the sensation of his bare body against hers caused a tension that was coiled tight inside of her to ease.
Better? he asked.
She nodded.
Tell me about it, he said. The nightmare. Maybe if you talk about what happened, it will make it go away.
She sighed. The nightmare doesn’t bear much resemblance to reality. I’m in the same warehouse where the shooting occurred, but in the dream, I’m lost and the gunman is chasing me, and that didn’t happen. I never make it out, and he always catches me. I see the barrel of his gun—that did happen—and he shoots me, and I fall. I always fall.
As he listened, he ran his fingers through her hair. The rhythmic caress soothed her like nothing else ever had. Her muscles went pliable and boneless. You called out a name, he said. I couldn’t make it out.
It took her a moment to think back, then she remembered.
Rodrigo, she replied. He’s a good friend on the police force. He and I are the only ones who survived. There were five of us—me and a team of four officers. We were going to take out a magic user who’d suffered some kind of psychotic break. We underestimated him. We thought he was relatively harmless. Everyone we talked to who knew him said so. We didn’t know he’d been stockpiling guns and ammunition.
Nikolas said quietly, Oh no.
We were talking him down—or so we thought—and then we went in to take him into custody, but he’d been playing with us and only pretending to go along with it. I was part of the team in case he decided to get slaphappy with magic spells, but instead, he opened fire on us the moment we stepped inside and came into range. He knew how to shoot. We were wearing bulletproof vests, and he still killed three of us with headshots. He’d been preparing.
Nikolas ran his hand along her torso, touching the scar high on her shoulder, and the other one in her abdomen. He caught you along the edges of your vest.
She nodded. Rodrigo took him out. He did CPR on me until the ambulances arrived. He saved my life.
As she told the last of her tale, he pressed his lips to her forehead and didn’t move again for several moments. He murmured, After what you’ve gone through, you still fling yourself at danger.
No, she said tiredly. I fling myself at situations that may or may not be dangerous. I help a dog at the side of the road. I give a bunch of homeless guys a roof over their heads.
He brought fingers to her lips, stroking them lightly. You run into a pub to save a screaming woman. You run straight toward thirty attacking Hounds.
It’s just a thing, she whispered. It’s no big deal. It’s who I am. You ran into the pub too.
I ran into the pub because you were there, he said.
She refused to let that divert her. She told him, You would have done the same thing if I hadn’t been. When those two Hounds were attacking Cael, you ran toward them, not away. It’s the same thing, Nik. We’re more alike than not, at least about that.
He rolled her onto her back, came on top of her, and put his elbows on either side of her shoulders, the fingers of his hands laced together at the top of her head. She felt enclosed, surrounded. Instead of feeling trapped, it felt comforting and good. The rightness of it hurt more than almost anything else she had ever experienced.
“I’ve lost so many people,” he breathed against her lips. “So many people, my Sophie. I think of their names and their faces until sometimes I think I’ve become nothing more than a remembrance hall that bears witness to each of their stories and how they ended. That part of me is threadbare and worn to the bone, and until you showed up, I thought I didn’t have it in me to care about anyone else again. But now I do, and yes, I’m struggling, because I don’t think I could take losing you too.”
Before, in the courtyard, pain had driven her side of the conversation, but now as she listened to him, compassion moved her to stroke his back. She murmured, “I thought we were taking a time-out.”
“I lied,” Nikolas said, and he kissed her.
She lost herself in the sensation of his mouth moving on hers, the weight of his body, the warmth radiating off his skin. Desire hit her low and hard. Her body felt empty and aching, and as she bent her knee, sliding her foot along his leg, his cock stiffened into a hard, thick length that pressed against her hip.
I’m going to walk away from you after this, she whispered in his head as she slipped her hand around his erection and squeezed him. Hissing against her mouth, he thrust his hips forward, sliding his cock against her palm. This is the
last time, Nik. I swear it.
We’ll walk away from each other, he promised. He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with such wild heat, a moan trembled on her lips. He swallowed it down, thrusting deep with his tongue while he ran his fingertips along the edge of her panties. The light touch left a trail of fiery sensation in its wake. As soon as I get you out of my system, I’m gone.
The bastard was telling the truth. Furiously she bit his lip, and a gasp shuddered through him. So he was going to leave as soon as he got her out of his system. Fine. Two could play at that game.
At least now she knew what this was, she thought. It was (tremendous, mind-blowing, screaming, utterly fantastic, wildly pleasurable, heartbreaking) sex.
She would cut him off before he did it to her. This was the very last time, so she grew determined to make the most of it. Pushing against his shoulder, she urged him to lie on his back, and he complied, pushing back the covers as he stretched out on the bed.
Rising on one elbow, she did what she had wanted to do ever since the first time they had been together. She ran her lips down his body, learning by feel each muscle and hollow, the whorl of hair around his flat, male nipples, the vein that ran down his bicep. She ran the tip of her tongue around the curve of his belly button while he tensed his long, flat stomach with a hiss.
By the time she reached the edge of his silk boxers, she didn’t have a lot of teasing coyness left. Pulling aside the material, she grasped his penis at the root and took him into her mouth while his whole body went rigid.
His hands shook as he cupped her head.
They had to be quiet, so quiet. The others were just on the other side of the boxes and crates that made up her bedroom. It was torturously difficult to muffle the sound of pleasure she wanted to make as she suckled at the head of his cock.
He tasted earthy, delicious. Dizzy with enchantment, she licked down the side of his erection, relishing the velvet skin with the taut, hard flesh underneath. Cupping his sac, she molded and caressed him while she opened her throat to take him in all the way.
Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1) Page 28
