by Scott, Amber
Kristoph would return; she felt it. But when? And at what point would he no longer rely on his magick to search?
She shut her eyes.
“Ailyn?” Quinlan asked quietly.
“Aye?”
“Who is he?” he turned on his side a little, so that his thigh pressed hard to hers.
Ignoring the tremble in her muscles, Ailyn took a settling breath. “His name is Kristoph Ash’r. He is my queen’s most trusted advisor.”
“As second in power, he’s attempting to usurp the very person who trusts him most. Aye, every king in Ireland can attest to the precarious nature of that trust. He’s out to overthrow the throne, then?”
She shook her head. The moon lit some of his face, the hollow of his cheek, and part of his brow. But his eyes were in shadows and unreadable. If he felt a similar attraction to what raced unbidden through her veins, he showed no signs of it. “There is no way to overthrow. Fae lineage is very specific. Only a blue blood Fae can rule and hope to keep peace among the tribes.”
And her queen had died. There was no person to overthrow, even if Kristoph had managed to find some way around Fae law and connection to the Source. Ailyn welcomed the bleak conversation, though the pain of remembering Tullah was gone keened through her. The pain focused her mind from noticing how muscular his thigh felt against hers.
“Then what is he after?” Quinlan asked after a long moment.
His breath was warm when it hit her face.
“Daniel is sure he wants the three stones. By joining them, Kristoph would destroy whatever magick separates our worlds, essentially rejoining our races.”
She wished she could see his eyes. But then, she would also be able to see his mouth. Images of his lips filled her mind. With them came that awful curiosity. What did a mortal kiss like? Would he use his lips? Demandingly? Softly? She’d not kissed many, and of the handful of men she had, one had been only for practice.
“That doesna sound so terrible,” his voice was low, husky.
There was a certain art to kissing. What a shame it would be if she never discovered his kiss. “It is foretold in my world that one day our races will live as one again. But not until yours finds its magick once more.”
“Access to that kind of power….” He paused. “I imagine it could cause much warring.”
“My people would never survive. We are few.”
He brushed a finger over her cheek, tucking a lock of hair off her face. Ailyn’s pulse tickled up her throat. Blessed be, she wanted him.
Ailyn adjusted her body, attempting to create space but instead creating friction. Flutters traveled down her belly and warmth settled between her thighs. She ached to lean her hips closer to his.
“Try to rest,” he said. “If he comes for you, I’ll feel it.” He wriggled their bound forearms in illustration.
Swallowing against the urge to touch him, Ailyn shook her head and closed her eyes. Between the ache building inside her and the knowledge that at any moment, Kristoph could return, the idea of sleep was laughable. But she would try.
She awoke with a stiff neck and in a foul mood.
Finding Quinlan crouched over the fire, stirring it and whistling, only worsened her mood.
“Where is Daniel?” she asked, not caring how sour she sounded. He’d clearly not been affected in the least by last eve’s events. Or by her.
“He’s not yet returned, lass. I caught us breakfast. Clean up and I’ll get your belly filled. It will help.”
Ailyn stood, grimacing over the tightness in her limbs. Two days astride had taken its toll. Albeit fighting off the urge to writhe against Quinlan all night couldna have improved matters. Frustrating, it was, her body so ably ignoring good sense.
She strode toward the pond, scowling at its emerald depths, refusing to appreciate its beauty. She was in no mood for such things. She splashed her face, smoothed her hair, and began tugging the locks into a braid. She’d feel better once Daniel returned. They could be on their way. She could forget her foolish thoughts about kissing and more. She could put a space between her and Quinlan.
Mayhap mortal men did not get aroused. Perchance it was not her that he found unappealing, but more it was a matter of basic incompatibility between races. Except she’d seen his desire for her previously. She’d experienced his attraction.
Could men simply halt such feelings?
She released a ragged sigh in exasperation and searched out a twig to fray the ends of. A clean mouth would make her feel worlds better. The better to kiss with, as well. “Stop, Ailyn,” she grumbled. “You’ve more important matters to attend to.”
“What exactly are you telling yourself to stop, lass?” Quinlan asked.
Startled, Ailyn spun around. “I’ll thank you to not sneak up on me.”
He quirked one eyebrow high. “Break your fast. We’ll start after.”
She hated his highhanded tone. “Start what, exactly?”
“Your training.”
Quinlan did all he could to hide his amusement, but it was no easy feat. Moment by moment, Ailyn was working herself into quite a snit. Under better circumstances, he wouldna be able to resist tweaking her temper just a bit more. She was rather fetching when irked. Feisty, to be sure.
“All this stomping about, Ailyn,” Quinlan said. “A bit much, don’t you think?”
She huffed, crossing her arms as she considered his question a moment. “Aye, well, blame the events of my life these last days. In light of the entirety, I’d say I’m allowed a bit of flair.”
He laughed from deep in his belly. “Flair is what you’ll be calling it? Aye, well, let us put your flair to better use, lass.”
She shook her head. “Not until Daniel returns.”
“He might not return.”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Lass, it doesna matter. Either way, you must train. I’ll not sleep again after last eve, until I’ve given you what lessons I can.”
“You’ll curse him to fail is what you’ll do.”
“Enough, lass. Whatever fears you have, fight them. I’ll show you how.”
She threw up her hands. Quinlan could see her bemusement building. She needed an outlet. She needed to feel she had some power over invisible assaults and missing persons. Nothing felt worse than the helpless sense of life tossing a person about like a stone in the sea. He knew that feeling all too well, and only one thing had ever given him real footing in any storm.
Fight.
“He’s not coming back, Ailyn,” Quinlan said. He could feel it.
She shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. Daniel is invested in this. He has spent years attempting to understand my world. He’d not leave me to find the bloodstone alone.”
She growled a sound of frustration, pacing the perimeter, her hair coming unbound and wild from sleep. “He would not hand me to Kristoph by leaving me no direction. She thumped her chest with meaning.
Her pendant.
Quinlan only knew what was evidenced. “Mayhap he needs more time. Mayhap something happened to him. I dinna ken. We’ll not sit here like wounded prey waiting for the hunter to return to try again.”
“Then we go find Daniel.”
“How? Where?”
“We search the area he disappeared into.”
Quinlan shook his head. If he pushed the issue, she might break. “Fine. We will search. First, we will pack, and you will let me show you three kill moves.” He needed to arm her with more than she had. He needed it like he needed air. “Allow me to show you just three simple tricks.”
“Quin, we’ve no time for your sword tricks. He is a sorcerer. No match for steel. He must know what I have.”
Again, she smacked her breastbone. The high pitch of her voice warned him, but its alarm could not outcry that which already rang within him. “Three simple moves, Ailyn. It is all I ask. Be reasonable.”
“After we search, you can show me a thousand.” She rolled the blanket with shaking hands.
&nb
sp; Enough. She was not listening to reason. Her face mottled with color and her nostrils flared. Lord, but the woman did not like facing the truth—even when it sat staring her right in the face. Quinlan set his jaw. She’d be facing worse if she couldn’t get over her fears.
“Aye. An easy feat showing a dead woman how to fight.”
“You dinna have to be so harsh,” she said, her chest heaving. Her eyes glittered, her lips thinned.
“Harsh?” he demanded, panting as well. She thought this harsh? Quinlan tossed his broadsword to the ground. He strode to her, delighting in her mouth dropping open. “Harsh?”
“What are you do—” Her words became a yelp as he scooped her up onto his shoulder.
The icy waters of the small pool seeped up his calves, biting his skin with cold.
“Nay,” she begged.
Quinlan adjusted her so that she could see his face. “Oh, aye, lass. Aye.” Anger shone bright in her eyes and not a speck of fear. Perfect.
“You wouldna,” she whispered, releasing his neck as if to dare him.
He cared not if she dared him. He’d long outgrown reacting to jibes and childish prompts. Her lips were pink and wet, and he’d like nothing more than to kiss her senseless. Which was why he had to finish the job.
“I would,” he said and bestowed his most winning smile on her right before tossing her like a stone out into the waters.
Her sharp intake of breath right before the loud splash satisfied him far more than it should have. Far less satisfying than feeling her breath on his lips, or reacting to his every touch could be, but it would have to do.
After a few seconds, Ailyn splashed and sputtered to the surface, her hair clinging to her skull and looking like a drowned cat. Angrier than one, too. Quinlan laughed out loud. Which made her all the madder.
She found her footing and stood up a few feet away. Soaked. “I’ll have you kn—ahhh!” She fell onto her arse with a loud ‘umph’. New ripples spread over the pond’s surface.
Quinlan guffawed again, doing a pitiful job of containing his mirth. Ailyn glared up at him, kicking water. He backed up a few feet, chuckling. She swiped his hand away when he offered it.
“Come now,” he said. “Ye’ll catch your death.”
She slowly stood. Her lips shivered and her eyes warned that she was up to something. “My death will be on your hands, then.”
Her anger sobered him a bit. Or was it the way that every inch of wet fabric clung to her curves? Two hard nipples begged for his attention. The cold water’s effects did nothing to curb the heated stirring in his breeches.
She stalked toward him. Out to tumble him into the depths too, she was. He’d bet his horse on it. Quinlan backed away, grinning, ready for her.
God, but she was lovely. Fierce and proud. Petulant but defiant. Every pale inch of skin. Every soft angle of her body, from the slight swell of her breasts to the narrow dip at her waist. His hands ached to be on those hips. To grab them hard and tug her close.
Something in her expression shifted. The mischief in them receded. Her gaze went to his mouth. She licked her lips. Quinlan nigh groaned. Is this how you kiss?
There was no way she felt it, too. How many times had she treated him like a strange, foreign thing to be wary of? To handle with care? Not, at any point, to consider kissing.
Not to consider pressing her naked, cold flesh to his, using the friction of their writhing bodies to chase the damp chill away. No fire could heat him as her very presence did now. His groin tightened. His body hardened. His head swam with notions never to be acted on. A mossy bank. The flat edge of the boulder near the shore. The rough trunk of a tree, her hands gripping a low bough, moaning, wriggling her sweet little bottom.
“I think I understand,” Ailyn said and met his eyes again.
The anger was gone. Something hotter burned there. She wanted him.
Once more, he reached his hand out. Without hesitation, her hand braced his forearm. He pulled her forward. Moving backward, he began leading her to the shore. “What do you understand?”
Solid ground met his boots. He continued back until he knew she was clear of the water, too. He should get a blanket. She should get out of her wet garments. She took another small step, closer to him.
He had hopes, aye. His body heaped hope upon hope. Looked for any excuse to lace his fingers into her wet hair and draw her mouth to his. But he was no longer a boy who chased hopes like butterflies. Lust begot many a fanciful thought.
Reality would win out.
And when it did, he’d need a toss into the pool himself.
“What you want.”
He chuckled. This time with little humor. “Full of insights this morn, are you, lass?”
Ailyn smiled and cocked her head the tiniest bit. She was up to something. Every part of him warned that she was baiting him. But he saw now the means she could discover that could possibly thwart him. So, he bit. He stood his ground as she drew ever closer. He refused the base urges his body cried out with when the musky heather scent of her met his senses. The water, it seemed, made everything about her more acute.
Her eyes searched his. A wet tendril of her hair sprang into a curl. Quinlan fisted his hand so as to not brush it from the view of her eyes. Alarm pulsed through him. It warned him that what she had in mind, he wanted. But wanting and doing were two very different curses to live with.
“Is it as delicious as I imagine?” she said, her body mere inches from his.
“Is what delicious?” he said, his voice far less derisive than he’d intended. Ah, but his mind filled in the answer triple fast, long before she could.
But was he right? Was she curious about a kiss? What else could she mean? Ailyn wet her lips anew, and her rounded pink tongue sent a pinch of desire down his gut, knifing into his crotch.
She parted her lips as though to answer, but no words came out. By Christ’s teeth, the lass was killing him in a slow, torturous death with one wide-eyed look. Not innocent, though. That was the true struggle. For every movement and every blink brimmed with promise, with want.
Could it be that she wanted him, too, but had no knowledge of how to pursue her desires? He was thinking rather highly of himself to be considering so much in such a swift span of time. The vivid reality of what lust did to a man. Heeding the alarm in his head, he stepped back.
But the space he created intensified his ache rather than relieved it. “What are you doing to me, lass?”
She frowned the slightest bit, cocking her head once more. “Wondering if a man’s mouth tastes as salty as his sweat.”
He groaned.
She took a breath and stepped toward him again. “And…dredging up the courage to find out.”
A tiny spark of anger flared deep in his gut, igniting his desire. She wanted to play, did she?
In one adept reach, he yanked her by the waist, pulling her body against his. The wet chill of her tunic soaked to his skin, then gave way to heat. Her hands went to his chest and her stomach leaned in. He grabbed a fistful of her hair at her nape, tilting her face. “Salty?”
Ailyn’s lashes fluttered, but she held his gaze eagerly. She nodded. He wanted to slash his mouth down onto hers, to pour his pent-up lust for her into one deep, long, angry kiss. But if she wished for a game, he’d match her well.
He watched her face as he pulled her closer, tightening his grip in her dripping hair. She gasped. A thrill raced through him. He touched his lips to hers, the barest amount and inhaled her sweet breath. A mistake. The taste of her warm air nearly drowned his control.
Taking her lower lip between his, he suckled it, running his tongue over the silky plump surface. She tasted like honey.
He released her lip and met her mouth again, testing just how naturally she responded. She wound her hands up to his neck, pressed her body full against him and opened her mouth for more.
Quinlan took her offer, dipping his tongue into her sweetness. The throaty purr in her throat matched him groan. She
tasted better than honey—divine—salty, yet sweet. Her tongue moved with his, shyly at first, and then with a passion he’d not seen in any woman before. He wanted more. His erection throbbed. He reached down, cupping her ass, drawing her hips against his need.
She pulled his head closer, smashing his lips to hers, matching his tongue’s exploration with her own. Too late, though. Like the morning mist in the sun, his will evaporated as well. Ever present, thick, dense, and palpable then under one hard gust of desire, gone.
He wanted far more than a kiss.
Her small breasts nigh called his name. Releasing her hair, his hand covered one delighting in the rigid tip jutting to meet his palm, reveling in the chilly feel of the small, firm mounds. He squeezed her breast tight, thumbing over the nipple. Ailyn’s knees gave. He caught her weight as she righted herself, then thought better of standing altogether.
Regretful though he was to do so, he released her breast and sweet, curving hip long enough to brace her fall as he kicked out her feet. She clung to him. He lowered her to the grassy ground, never breaking the sweet, deep contact with her mouth.
The moment her body met earth, her legs wound around his waist. The move gave him access to the softest part of her, the source of all his desires as they wound tight, braiding together. It tied him to one inevitability. Like no other, he wanted Ailyn.
They were well beyond a kiss, a voice warned inside him. If he treaded further, he would face commitments he’d sworn off. Quinlan pulled back, breaking their kiss.
Ailyn’s eyes met his, their color so bright with desire that his erection again throbbed. She pulled at his shoulders, her hips shoving upward to meet his. He shut his eyes in pleasure, then forced them open. “Tell me to stop, Ailyn.”
She shook her head. “Dinna stop. Not yet. Please.”
Not yet. He returned his mouth to hers, telling himself he’d have just one more taste. One more press. She met his kiss with fervor, sucking his lip and his tongue. Her hands desperately tugged at his clothes, and then reached under them. Her cold hands touched his bare skin on his belly. He yanked at her tunic as well, finding silken, chilled skin. She arched into his palm, whimpering.
