by Petra Landon
“The wood is damp. It’ll take time to catch fire. In the meantime, you should take off your damp clothes or you’ll never get dry, fire or no fire” he warned her, carefully laying out Duncan’s clothes on the rocks by the opening.
Tasia could only shiver in response. “I heard a … noise” she remarked, her tone hesitant. It had unnerved her, to be honest, coming as it had out of the blue. And it had sounded like the roar of an animal very close to home.
He didn’t look up from his task. “Duncan let his beast free. He’ll be back in the morning.”
For a moment, she studied him.
“I’ll be safe if I seal myself in here” she offered, giving him a way out.
If you want to run free tonight, like Duncan.
This time, he paused in his task to shoot her a glance. In the dark, all she could discern was his silhouetted face turned towards her.
“I appreciate the offer, witchling. But I’ll stay here.”
A tiny sound, suspiciously incongruous to the surroundings, had him glancing up. The witchling’s head lolled towards the fire, her body angled to it, unconsciously craving its warmth in sleep. A few seconds more, and she would topple into the burning flames. He leapt for her, snagging her at the shoulder to draw her back from the brink. She slept on unawares, exhausted by the trek through the woods. This had always been his role, he mused whimsically. To draw her back from the brink, even when she didn’t comprehend how close to the edge she stood. He glanced at the ground. She’d laid out her damp jeans by the fire to dry them, using them as a cushion to protect her bare legs from the rough floor. Her sweater was tied around her waist to protect her modesty and her damp tee clung to her skin. As he moved her carefully away from the fire, she shivered. Everything on her was damp — her hair, her clothes, and even the denims she sat on. No wonder she’d reached unconsciously for the warmth of the fire in her sleep.
This would not do, he knew. They were a good few hours away from morning, and it would likely be a cold one. She’d have no dry clothes when they left this cozy nook. His own tee, slung over a largish rock by the fire, was nearly dry. To a Shifter, being without clothes was the natural state. There was no greater joy than to run free in the natural — either as beast or human. But the witchling was not a Shifter. Out of respect for her, he had kept his jeans on, even though the damp denims made his skin itch.
Holding her fast to him, he glanced down at her. In sleep, she looked vulnerable and serene. Raoul found himself hoping that the nightmares would spare her tonight. As if sensing his silent regard, she sighed softly to burrow into his warmth, drawn to the heat his body radiated. He reached back to lean against the wall, bracing himself before sweeping her onto his lap. The sweater tied toga style around her waist was stripped off to join her damp jeans on the ground. Tasia murmured incoherently in her sleep, feeling the loss of the sweater, damp though it had been. He smoothed her tee down over her hips with impersonal hands to arrange her legs carefully, draping them over his own denim-clad ones, so they didn’t scrape against the pebbles and sharp twigs that littered the hard floor. With his bare feet, he shoved both her sweater and jeans closer to the fire, where they’d stand a greater chance of drying by morning. Leaning back, he held her close to his overheated body.
The fire in the confined space had him sweating, even as she shivered from the chill. As the heat from his body warmed her slowly, she sighed softly in sleep, a hand reaching for him. Drawn to his warmth, it wandered over his chest to his heart. For a moment, he stared down at the palm. It rested on a part of himself that Raoul had given up on a long time ago, having marked it as missing in action, lost over a hellish period almost a decade ago. The hand covered his heart protectively, guarding the organ beating steadily under it, as if aware of the need to be careful with it. His lips twisted wryly. For him, fate had always been a strange and abstract concept — one he’d never believed in. Because if he did, he’d have to acknowledge that what had happened to deaden his heart had also been ordained. Instead, Raoul had shoved thoughts of fate away to focus on building a new life. A life on his terms. A life far away from the memories. And a life where he would control his destiny and no one would wield power over him ever again.
Tasia slept on, oblivious to the memories racing through the man who held her close. She shifted in his arms, her face rubbing restlessly against his shoulder. Her breath huffed softly through infinitesimally parted lips, caressing his skin. He moved to readjust her in his arms, but that small movement had been enough. He felt his breath hitch, his body coming alive abruptly. Gone was any discomfort from the fire he’d built for her. Reflexively, his hands tightened around her.
Tasia sighed contently, feeling warm and snug. Warmth permeated her all over, enveloping her in its embrace. Something held her hard and fast like a warm blanket, making her cozy and safe. She moved, luxuriating in the warmth to stretch languorously. And something large and warm cupped her hip to hold her in place. She frowned in her sleep. Since when was she not allowed to move as she pleased in her own bed? She protested, muttering in her sleep. The response was a soft masculine murmur and the flutter of warm breath on her face. Something was pounding madly beneath the silken sheet under her hand, she realized. Her palm moved to delicately explore this new phenomenon. Without warning, the clasp at her hip was released abruptly, moving to snag the hand intent on exploration. Tasia protested incoherently, tugging at her hand.
“Let be, witchling” commanded a voice in husky tones.
She knew that voice. It was always giving commands and directing everyone to do as he bid. Always watching her with cold and unfathomable gold-colored eyes. Hmm, perhaps she ought to let him know that, Tasia decided. She lifted her lids a smidgeon to find a pair of gold eyes up close. There was a light in their depths, a smoldering flame he fought to prevent from spiraling into a conflagration.
So very like him to control everything, including the fire in him. Even the fire must bow before the Alpha.
Nevertheless, she decided, this was not a bad dream. She would go as far as to say it was quite nice, she decided charitably. Way better than the horrible one from the shed.
“This is a nice dream” she muttered. “Much better than the other one.”
“I should hope so, witchling.”
The voice was huskier than usual, the banked fire in the gold eyes holding her languid half-closed ones.
Her lips made a little moue of protest. “I don’t like it when you call me witchling” she complained.
“Why not?” inquired the gold eyes seriously.
This was a very strange dream, she frowned. He seemed to almost welcome her questions.
“Because it reminds you that I’m a Wizard, and you don’t like Wizards.” Her response was incurably honest.
The gold eyes softened. “I like you just fine.”
There was note in the voice that generated the first nub of alarm in Tasia, but she shoved it away resolutely. She deserved a nice dream, she told herself. Didn’t she deal with the aftermath of the barn every few weeks?
Instead, Tasia closed her eyes again, rousing herself to point out the error in his statement.
“How would you like it if I called you …” She hesitated, drowsily wracking her sleepy brain for something that would make him see the error of his ways.
“What would you like to call me?”
“Lordling” she whispered triumphantly, confident that he wouldn’t like it. “How would you like it if I called you Lordling?” she demanded.
“You may call me anything you want.”
There was that note again in his voice. Tasia frowned.
Of course, he doesn’t mind being called Lordling. He lords over us all the time. He’d probably love if it I addressed him as Lordling.
What would he not tolerate, Tasia pondered dreamily. What would the Alpha never allow? She knew enough about Shifters now, even this particularly enigmatic and controlled one. This should be easy. She felt almost giddy when the
answer hit her.
“How about Raoul?” she dared him. He was a stickler for the chain of command. He’d never allow this.
“Especially Raoul” he growled.
The hand holding her palm captive over his heart let go of it, to move to her waist. His heart beat strongly under her palm as she spread her fingers over it protectively. The band at her shoulder moved subtly as something snagged her hair to angle her head. She roused herself to open her eyes a smidgeon, only to tangle with smoldering gold eyes that watched her. The banked fire from before was starting to sizzle. The expression in the gold depths seemed to cue a reciprocal hammering in her heart.
It’s a dream, she reminded herself through the pounding of her heart. Just a dream. In it, the gold-colored eyes, usually so cold and controlled, blazed fiercely. Her lips parted in unconscious invitation. The gold eyes snapped to them, watching them with an intensity that might have unnerved her if it wasn’t a dream.
Tasia closed her eyes again. It was better this way. She really did like this dream, she sighed. Why could that damn nightmare not decide to swap itself out for good with this one, she wondered a tad indignantly. Was that too much to ask?
“Are you going to kiss me?” she murmured, a small smile on her face. Hmm, the big bad Alpha wasn’t always in control like he wanted to be.
“Yes” came a throaty growl.
“Okay” she sighed softly, letting her body go limp in his embrace.
If she couldn’t allow him to kiss her in a dream, when could she, Tasia asked herself prosaically, immensely pleased by her unimpeachable logic.
Through the haze of desire, Raoul stared down at her, hesitant to accept the unconscious invitation. The witchling wasn’t quite awake.
“Hurry up” she urged softly, her eyes closed in anticipation. “I might wake up, you know.”
That did it. He felt a bubble of laughter well up in him.
“Bossy” he muttered, bending his head to nip gently at the soft skin of her nape.
It was enough to wake her from what Tasia had assumed to be a dream. She yelped softly, more from shock than anything else.
“Sorry, Big Eyes” he murmured against her skin before using his tongue to soothe the nip.
Tasia’s eyes opened wide just as he placed his mouth on her nape. The open-mouthed kiss seared her, sending her body into overdrive. Suddenly, she felt hot all over, despite the dampness of her clothes. Instinctively, she attempted to swivel her shocked gaze to him but the hand in her hair held her in place, her head angled away to give him access. His mouth felt scorchingly hot on her, almost like she was being branded, his stubble like sandpaper on her skin. The hand on her waist slipped under her tee to rest against bare skin. Tasia gasped, the sound reverberating in the nook to echo softly.
He stiffened against her, disentangling slowly to come up. The gold eyes stared at her, the blazing fire in the periphery of her vision reflected in their depths, his jaw clenched tight.
He’s decided to let go.
The thought popped into Tasia’s head as she stared helplessly into the smoldering eyes. He wasn’t trying to control the banked fire in him anymore, and she felt the first stirrings of fear. Something, her subconscious possibly, had been counting on him to not give in. She had been so very confident about his need for control.
I’m in so much trouble.
Reeling, she tried to rouse herself, despite the incessant hammering of her heart pounding in its cage like a wild animal, and through the sense of being slowly and inexorably drawn under.
“This is not a dream” Tasia pointed out to him, accusation, indignation and alarm all rolled into that one statement.
His eyes flared in response, his expression tightening subtly. He leaned in to cover the small distance between them. Or perhaps, he had angled her head closer, Tasia mused dazedly. Either way, she couldn’t tell. His lips hovered over hers and she held her breath, afraid to do anything to push him over the edge of the precipice they both stood on. Time stood still in the cave. Do something, the voice in her head screamed its warning. You cannot afford to go under, not with him.
“I never said it was, witchling.” This time, there was no mistaking the growl — or his intentions.
His mouth closed the infinitesimal distance to take hers in a searing kiss, and Tasia forgot all about dreams and Alphas who spoke to her in them with an unfamiliar growl coloring his voice, or a strange note of tenderness threaded through it. The palm at her hip slid up her skin to leave a fiery trail in its wake. He tugged at her lower lip to take it into his mouth. He tasted of the earth and rain and man, the combination so normal and yet so unique. A reeling Tasia tried to remember why she should push him away, his hard chest plastered against her, his mouth hot and wet on her. Under her palm, she could feel his heart hammer madly, almost as if beating in tandem with hers. Conflicted and dazed, her hand reached blindly for the powerful arms holding her fast. She knew not whether to push him away or urge him closer. All the while, her inner voice and the desire enveloping her seemed to engage in an epic struggle for influence over her. As her hand closed over the muscled upper arm, his bicep flexed uncontrollably at the touch. He muttered, his hand cupping her hip to draw her closer. Plastered intimately against him, Tasia could feel him now. It was like a douse of cold water. She went still, all the old warnings ringing like bells in her head.
Walk away. Walk away now!
Abruptly, through the screaming in her head and the unholy mix of passion, fear and confusion roiling her, she sensed something else. A lifetime of warning and practice kicked in. Tasia pushed at his shoulder to get his attention, her action eerily reminiscent of the cage. At first, he merely clasped her closer. She persisted, this time with more intent, demanding his attention. He tore his lips from her reluctantly, even as the hand in her hair and the one on her hip tightened imperceptibly. For a moment, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged, while Tasia tried to formulate the words to warn him. Then, he moved back slowly to meet her gaze. The firelight threw mysterious shadows on his face, but the gold eyes still burned with fire — albeit one under control again. Tasia sent up a silent word of thanks.
“If you tell me there’s a camera in here, witchling, I will fucking kill something.” His voice, husky and threaded through with a frustration he didn’t try to hide, held an underlying note of self-deprecation and amusement. He was almost back to normal. The familiar self-controlled Shifter she knew.
“The Blutsaugers are at the door — trying to get in” she gasped, her own breathing not quite steady.
His eyes flashed to the entrance of the cave. In a blink, so fast Tasia didn’t know how it happened, she was half-lying on her jeans and propped against the wall while he stood across the fire from her, facing the opening that led into the nook. Tasia swallowed her gasp of surprise. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that he was a Shifter. No, her inner voice warned, she should never have to remind herself. She must never forget who he was, and the threat any kind of involvement with him posed to her.
“How many leeches?” His eyes were trained on the entrance, all business again, no trace of lingering huskiness in his voice anymore.
Tasia let her magic senses loose, her eyes on him as he stood with his bare feet braced apart, his arms held rigidly by his sides. His body thrummed with tension, singularly focused on the threat at hand. The muscled shoulders gleamed in the firelight, the Vampire’s scratch from earlier in the night now a faint crease. She let her eyes wander absently over him and the way the denims hugged his hips and powerful thighs.
“A few” she said mechanically.
He swung around to shoot her a narrow-eyed glance.
“I can’t tell exactly, but the stress on the magic is enormous” she explained. Her own magically constructed barrier made it hard to sense how many led the assault on it.
His eyes flashed around the nook to assess it, his expression indiscernible. He was worried about her, she realized in a flash, trapped in
a cave with the Undead clamoring to get in.
“I can fortify it so they cannot get in” she offered. In a way, she was working blind, without knowing how many Blutsaugers assaulted her magic. But it could be done. She possessed the power to make the nook impregnable.
This time, she had his attention. “How?”
“It’s just a matter of throwing more power at it.” She was confident.
“Will they not suspect who it is?” This was his delicate way of probing whether using her magic in the Blutsaugers’ presence might leave her vulnerable. And just like that, the weight of her secrets lay between them.
“No.” She shook her head. “The woods around us teem with old magic. They’ll never suspect anything, merely assume it’s a remnant left over from before.”
His brows arched in inquiry.
“I felt it when we were in the woods” she explained. “This forest has been used by Chosen before, for a long time now.”
“That’s why the Lady chose it” he muttered under his breath. Raoul studied her carefully. She was waiting for his approval, he knew, being extra careful after the misstep with the leech before.
“What’s the catch?” He narrowed his eyes.
She hesitated. “It might weaken me temporarily, if I use so much power” she admitted.
“I’ll take care of you.” He was matter-of-fact.
Something, an emotion she was afraid to name, unfurled deep in her. Tasia chose to ignore it.
“How did they find us?” he wondered aloud.
Tasia shrugged. “It’s possible one of them discovered my magic barrier quite by accident, and called in the others to assist him when he couldn’t penetrate it.”
“Hmm” he murmured.
“It’s your call.” She left it up to him.
Tasia’s sixth sense flared, as the Blutsaugers made a renewed assault on her magic.
“Do it” he directed.
“Duncan won’t be able to get in either” she warned him. “Not after I fortify it. I’m going to make it impenetrable for everyone — Chosen and Si’ffa alike.”
