But he let her walk away.
“There’s work to do, damn it.” Her voice rang clear and lonely on the path ahead. “I have work to do.”
Lives to save. Evil was coming. No. It was already in this world. Memory of the Void was a constant companion, pushing her forward. The certainty of it filled her mind. This was her purpose. Save this small scrap of habitable earth from annihilation. It wouldn’t make up for what had happened to her world, but it would help this one.
So why did that ache in her chest get worse with each passing step? Why did her mind keep traveling back to the nice things Rush had done? Feeding her. Clothing her. Letting her explore those incredible ears even though it caused him great discomfort. Holding her hand to cross the bog. Diving headfirst into murky water to rescue her.
He could have forced her to save him. But he didn’t.
Her whole life she’d been forced to use her powers for other people’s gain. Bishop couldn’t have cared less if he’d forced her to save himself. In fact, he’d done it frequently.
“Tell me my future, babe.”
“You’re going to die.”
Bishop laughed. “Then tell me how to cheat death.”
Leaving Bishop before the world froze didn’t feel like this. Leaving Rush hurt like her soul was being ripped in two, and half was back with him. Why?
Clarke stopped. She clenched her fists and rubbed them over her sternum. And then she screamed her frustration, letting the sky and the air know how she felt. With every fiber of her being, she told the world, This isn’t fair.
For once, she would like just a little free will. Just a little.
Those days grifting in the casino, only worrying about her next meal, were looking like a dream.
The last note of her cry left her breathing hard and her stomach stinging. With a wince, Clarke glanced down. Red welts ran down her front. She poked around but saw no worrying damage. The monster’s claws had just scraped the first layer of flesh. She’d been lucky.
She wanted to hate Rush. He was a grade-A stubborn fae. But he needed her, even if he wouldn’t admit it. One of them had to be mature about this. If she ignored her intuition, then she was no better than him, no better than the fools who ignored her warnings and destroyed her world.
She used to think her ex was the fool. By the time she’d caught on to his greed and callousness, he was already knee deep in messing with all the wrong people. The Void and the man who did his dirty work for him. His name was Bones. A mercenary with sharp angles.
She heard an echo of Laurel’s scream as Bones pulled her nails out.
“These numbers will only bring death and destruction,” she’d warned Bones.
Clarke slammed the heel of her palms into her eye sockets, hoping to shove the memories away. But they were as sharp as the day she’d made them. She should have done more. She should have done something instead of walking away, but all she could think of was that she’d not expected them to actually release Clarke and Laurel. And when they had, they didn’t look back. If they had, the Void might have changed his mind.
But was it worth it?
Was Laurel’s life worth it?
She dropped her palms and lifted her gaze to stare at the sky through the branches. And what was she doing right now? Walking away from the tug of destiny. Her instincts weren’t telling her to run forward, they were telling her to go back.
Spinning on her heels, she stomped back to the bog.
And found Rush on the ground, still as the dead under the branches of a willow tree. Hatred fled, leaving her cold and empty. This was the result of saving her. Like a crocodile in a death roll, that monster had dragged her down, but Rush had fearlessly come after her. There weren’t men like him in her time. None that she’d known anyway.
Rush had known touching the monster would make him sick, yet he’d done it. He was just too stubborn to admit it. She refused to believe it was because of some bargain he’d made with her when he wouldn’t even use the bargain to ensure his survival. His pride may have stopped him from reneging on their deal, but this… there must be more to his story.
He remained unmoving, face pale and pinched.
Clarke went to him and landed on her knees. She touched his hot skin and then felt for a pulse at his neck. He jerked, gold eyes opening to lock on her with turbulence. Fury and hurt and shame shone back at her. She could see it in every line of his strained face.
“Get away,” he growled and tried to shift his big, linebacker body but he managed nothing more than an inch, a drag in the dirt.
“No,” she replied.
An anguished frown scored his forehead.
“Why?” he whispered.
Why did she come back?
Firming her lips, she squeezed his hand. His reason must be strong enough to think he didn’t deserve to live. Clarke knew that feeling. A single tear ran down her cheek, and he looked away.
“Rush,” she whispered and smoothed hair from his face. “I don’t know how this is happening to me. I keep coming back to you and I can’t think of why, only that maybe I’ve been brought to this time for a reason, and you’re part of it. Your god, your Well of Life, or whatever you want to call it, put me on your doorstep. It thawed me in your lake. I guess together we are stronger. Alone, we are nothing.”
Denial flashed in his eyes, and he looked away.
She bit her lip. “I hate the way you forced me into your bargain, but I can’t deny the pull between us. You feel it too. I know it.”
The breath that left him was shaky. He gathered enough strength to push himself to sitting. “When they cursed me, they made me invisible to everyone that mattered to me. And when no one can see you, they forget. You… disappear. I lost my purpose.”
“Now you have a new one.”
“What, to protect you on some divine mission to save the world?”
“That sarcasm is uncalled for. You’re a Guardian. You tell me. What about me seems normal?”
He scrutinized her. “You have magic.”
“I know.”
“But you’re human.”
“I know.”
“I’m supposed to kill your kind.”
“Again... I know.”
Was this his way of apology? She couldn’t say his prejudice against her kind was unfounded, but she wouldn’t mind a little regret.
“You made me see the White Woman’s true appearance, simply by willing it.”
“I think you should call her evil bug-woman, but...” Her breath caught on a sigh. “Yeah. I think I did. For the record, this is just as disturbing for me as it is for you. Trusting someone is hard when I’ve been used before. But I’m trying. By the way, that was a good segue for you to apologize for using me.”
“Fae don’t apologize.”
“You don’t apologize. You don’t say thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “What else don’t you do?”
“Lie.” And then closed his eyes with a wince.
Her eyes widened. They couldn’t lie?
But they could withhold the truth. Maybe if she could force the monster to see the truth, she could force him to speak it. But that would make her as bad as him. She would never do it. Not unless survival was on the line.
She bit her lip. The wind picked up and gusted her hair. She turned and hugged her knees, staring at the trodden leaves and sticks on the floor. An insect that reminded her of a dung beetle crawled up the base of a branch opposite her. She fixated on it, grateful for something familiar in this place because this power inside her was frighteningly foreign. The visions were getting stronger, and the new ability—she’d seen the evidence of her energy explode outward from her body. It still moved and rolled inside her, waiting for the next time she needed it.
The touch of his hand hit between her shoulder blades. She scrunched her burning eyes closed.
“Learning to trust is new for me too, but... I’ll keep you safe. Fae don’t lie.” The baritone of his deep voice rumbled through her like r
olling thunder. Bit by bit, she relaxed. It wasn’t just his words, it was the knowing inside. Her chest fluttered. He told the truth.
“As to your purpose here?” he continued. “Only the Order can confirm that.”
“And that’s where we’re going?”
He nodded.
“What if they think I’m lying? I’m human, right? I can lie.”
“After what I’ve seen, I find that hard to believe. It’s clear you have the magic of the Well running through your veins.” He rubbed his bottom lip, eyes shrewd on her. “I don’t know how, or why, but the Order will know.”
“So what now?”
“I believe I owe you a bath.”
A laugh barked out of her. “I believe I prayed to God for that, not you.”
He lifted a haughty shoulder, more energized. “Your god is a being with magical powers. So... same thing.”
“Right.”
They shared a smile. It was good to see the light back in his eyes, even for a moment. But already his expression turned somber as he angled toward the bog. “That thing should never have caught me in its spell. The White Woman is a malevolent member of the Unseelie Court, yet she shouldn’t even be this far south. It’s either the thaw, or…”
“Or what?”
He pushed to his knees. “I think I can stand now.”
She lifted him by the elbow, and helped him get to his feet.
Out of breath, he waited a moment with his hands on his hips before unbuckling the baldric keeping his sword strapped on. “You can’t go into town with that torn shirt.”
“What are you doing?” She kept a cautious eye on him as he removed his outer layer.
“Giving you something to wear.” He handed her the mud-covered jacket and reached over his neck with a wince to draw his shirt off.
“You’re injured. You need it.” An angry slash scored his neck.
“No one can see me. And I’ve had worse. When we get there, I will find us fresh clothes while you clean up at the inn.”
With his shirt removed, blue light flashed and Clarke squinted at the piercing glow. Shimmering glyphs covered his entire frame, sparkling like the tiny tear drop under his eye. Her cheeks flamed as she scanned his sculpted abs and perfect torso, his muscular physique flexing and rolling. Thoughts fled. She’d never be able to unsee it. He wasn’t so animal after all. He was pure, hot blooded male.
“Get a good look,” he said. “Once the curse ends, I’ll be shriveled and old.”
Bitterness laced his joke. And she didn’t care. Her hand was on him in an instant, tracing the shape of the glyphs, fascinated and wondering what they meant. He took a sharp breath, but she couldn’t stop. With every turn of her touch, glimpses in her mind’s eye showed someone painting them, and then watching the glyphs sink into his flesh.
“They weren’t always like this,” she murmured.
“The more that reappear, the closer I am to the end.” His voice was dark honey near her ear.
The markings tingled against her palm. Every time she shifted her touch, a slow burn built inside her, making every feminine instinct aware of his state of undress. She lost her clinical demeanor and enjoyed the heat of his touch. She watched, enthralled, as his skin went taut in response to the press of her fingers. A stillness came over him, as though he held his breath.
He watched her.
She knew.
Co-awareness bounced between them. Lifting her lashes, she met his gaze. An eternity passed as they stared into each other’s eyes. She wanted—needed—to know more about him. Everything. Starting with his body.
Why that jagged scar from beneath his rib cage to his hip? Why the wolf tattoo over his pec? It was dark and liquid, throwing colors as though oil spilled in water. Maybe it wasn’t even a tattoo. Shifting her touch, her thumb grazed his Adam’s apple. It bobbed on a swallow. She stroked his beard… along to his pointed ears.
“You need to stop now,” he rasped.
“Why?”
“Because you’re turning me on, and it’s been”—he licked his lips, a sight that had her stifling a moan—“it’s been a long time. Fae can be... relentless in their lovemaking. You are a fragile human.”
“But I’m not that human, am I?”
“You won’t like me when I lose control.”
“So make me stop.”
He didn’t. Her brazen fingers glided back down his front, bumping over abdominals, aiming for the top of his breeches. She couldn’t stop. Desire took control of her function. He’d said lovemaking and relentless, and now she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Two sweaty bodies, naked and tangled with primal need. A mindless craving pushed her every action. Her fingers dipped into the private space beneath his waistband, teasing the coarse hair there. His skin was so hot. She moaned, low and hoarse. He halted her movement with a hand. A warning growl escaped his throat.
“I find I cannot stop,” she murmured, eyes lowering to watch her hands, still alive with sensation. Veins popped on the flesh of his hard lower belly. His heady scent called to her, and it was everything she wanted. Right there. Right then. She needed to see more and... she licked her lips. “Let me—”
“Stop touching me.” His words compelled her, and her hands snapped to her side, forced by the bargain binding them.
Agape, she stood back.
He stared as though a tempest raged in his mind, as though he wanted to devour her and fought hard not to. As though he hated himself for wanting her. He ran trembling fingers through his silver hair, downcast eyes on her.
God, moving like that, lifting his arms and popping biceps… he made it worse. Clarke shivered. Her cool hands flew to pat her hot cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
It was a desire like she’d never felt before. It wracked her body and hummed along her skin. His hot gaze dipped to her lips, lowered to her bra, and then went to where the need was strongest. Nostrils flared as though he could scent her arousal. His attention caressed her body, lighting her up.
In two quick strides, he was in her space, bringing her lips to his. But then he paused. Hesitated. Their breaths mingled. Was that her heart beating, or his… or…
She didn’t care. She needed it. Wanted it. Expected it.
Mine, her mind growled possessively. But he didn’t ravage her like she wanted, like he’d promised. He lowered his lips and touched hers with tenderness. The softness of pillowed skin. The scratch of his beard. Then the gentle, shy push of his tongue requesting access. He nibbled her bottom lip, savoring a moment before thrusting through her parted lips and devouring with a guttural growl of need.
Heady. Salty. His taste smashed right through her restraint. She gripped his neck and pulled him flush against her body. The feel of his long drawn-out moan against her chest turned her liquid. They kissed and licked and tongued. God, she needed him.
It was only when her spine hit the spindly trunk of a tree did she realize he’d pushed her backward. Pressed hard against the bark, he took her mouth as though she was his. Lost in his arms, his taste, and his complete devotion, Clarke sank into the moment. No inner alarm screamed for her to run the other way. It was all him. His hard body, his warmth, his roving mouth.
She pushed his hand down to her breast and arched into him. “Rush, touch me.”
He jumped back, chest heaving with ragged breath.
“Clarke.” He shook his head, a pained look in his eyes. “I can’t.”
She blinked and hugged herself. What just happened?
“You sure look like you can.” Was it really this human versus fae thing? “Never mind. I get it.”
His brows lifted in the middle. “I let desire cloud my judgement once, and someone died for it. I can’t…”
Someone had died?
“I understand.”
She removed the torn tunic and replaced it with his shirt. The muddy and wet thing came down to her thighs, but it was whole.
He put on his jacket and left it unbutto
ned as if he were too hot to close it. A flush had ruddied his complexion too. He retrieved his rucksack and then finally buttoned the jacket before putting the baldric and sword back on.
Everything had shifted between them, and yet nothing had. He’d not reneged on his bargain. He wasn’t ready to let go of his prejudices, but his perception was changing. For the first time since waking in this strange version of her world, she was on the right track.
That kiss had felt good, damn it. She wanted him. Not because her powers told her to, or this mystical Well, but because he was hot, sexy, desirable. He made her want. And he made her feel safe. Knowing it, and taking ownership of it made her feel good.
Clearing her throat, she gave him a smile that said they weren’t done yet and moved, but he got in her way. A solid wall of fae blocked her. She met his gaze and saw something different. No more hate. No. This darkness was more like the need she felt. Like the want. Her chest warmed with hope.
“Clarke.” His velvet-storm voice slid over her in a wave. She held her breath, waiting, wishing. But he only tugged her muddy hair over her ears. “Keep your ears hidden.”
Chapter Sixteen
They emerged from the Whispering Woods into a field painted gold by the setting sun. Rush’s original plan had been to make a quick trip beyond the border walls of Crescent Hollow and steal a portal stone from the markets. Back then, he couldn’t give a fee-lion’s whiskers about her state of dress. Now he wouldn’t let her stay covered in mud. He owed her that act of kindness. Plus, with the late hour, it might take some time to locate a portal stone. Without one, the journey to the Order involved a trip across the Seelie Sea, or further up river via Cornucopia, the trade city.
So to an inn it was.
The thought of sharing a room with Clarke sent a tug straight to his balls. Rush didn’t trust himself alone with her, not with the way she looked at him, and not with the way she’d kissed him. After all these years, she was a temptation he couldn’t succumb to, especially since she wasn’t his Well-blessed mate, and more so because he was beginning to not care.
He still remembered the look of disappointment on his sister’s face when she found out he was an unsanctioned breeder. It was one thing to dip your wick, but they expected you to take proper precautions. The elves brewed a certain elixir for these exact purposes. But Rush had not planned. It was a mistake that ended in death for an innocent woman.
The Longing of Lone Wolves Page 10
