by Scott, Amber
“Half, Ailyn. Only half. Your other half is as blue-blooded as Maera, and you know it.”
She shot to her feet, torn between storming away and kicking sense into him. The power he suggested went beyond commanding a weapon to her hand. Or whispering to an arrow what direction to take. Her father’s blue blood mattered little when her mother’s brown muddied the weak magick in her veins. She refused to defend as much. He was clearly addled from his body’s dramatic change. “Why are you here, Colm? Where’s Maera? How did you find us?”
Colm leaned upward, his face showing the pain every move likely shot through him. His skin looked raw. He brushed at clumps of lingering hair. “I followed your scent. Forget about Maera. She’s no longer your concern.”
“No longer my concern? Unless and until you relieve me of my duty to the throne, she is my utmost concern. As she is yours.”
“Consider yourself relieved, then.” Pulling the blanket, Colm stood and wrapped it around his waist. “Ailyn, far more critical matters take precedence now.”
Aye, she would agree with that. Kristoph hunting her down with his sorcery was critical. The stones Daniel begged her to find for the sake of two races were critical. Not, by any measure, was her near dalliance with Quinlan. If Colm pushed the matter of marriage, he’d find himself pushing a fortress of resistance. He was too young when their father disappeared to recall what a happy marriage their parents had. Colm would know only of the distant union of necessity their mother had resigned herself to for the sake of her children’s future.
He didn’t push, though. He merely stood there, his gaze searching hers for a long moment.
“I’ve come for your pendant,” he said at last.
His words sent a shock through her. Ailyn backed up a step. No one knew of the pendant. Well, Quinlan knew. Daniel knew. But only because she’d deemed it absolutely necessary. Her mother swore no Fae knew of its existence. Ailyn had taken such care to keep it hidden no matter what, strapping it to her chest most days. For years. “I dinna ken what you speak of.”
“We’ve no time for lies and promises.” He stepped toward her, his eyes hardening. He outstretched his palm. “Give it to me now, Ailyn. It must be destroyed. Before the separation between mortals and Fae disintegrates, leaving disorder and death in its wake.”
Her hand went instinctively to her chest. “How d’you—?” Her pendant. It wasna there.
Quinlan veered his mount northward. He was losing the light of day already. How could his anger have eaten up so many hours? He shouldna have left Ailyn. He had but one other choice, though—throttle her. Or wound her with words meant to cut as deeply as hers had into him.
That was the crux of his difficulty. Her rejection had stabbed at him as sure as any sword ever had. Leaving her to her brother was the best he could do, but now, hours later, he regretted doing so. Departing at all was a selfish act, and he knew it. Lives were at stake, and he’d behaved no better than a brokenhearted lad. He’d behaved worse today than ten years past when he’d felt the sting of Breanne’s rejection.
He’d known Ailyn a matter of days, yet her declaration that she’d not marry him hurt far, far worse than any heart pain he’d suffered over Breanne. There was no sense or place for it. How could he have come to feel so possessive of the lass in so small a span of time?
She attracted trouble better than clover did bees. She could fight well and with courage but lacked the fortitude to keep her mind clear and focused. She was not from his world. She would not remain in his world. He had no call to want any different.
At long last, though, he’d had to face the truth.
Ailyn mattered to him.
Keenly so.
He clucked his horse forward, giving up his vain attempt to make use of his ride by locating the area Daniel had trod. If Daniel had left any path in his wake, it was either gone or Quinlan was so far off the mark that giving up and returning was his best option.
He decided he’d not force Ailyn. He would respect her heart, and even if her brother attempted to force their hands, he would honor her decision. She was right. They were from two different worlds. They’d dallied, but not enough to damage her virtue. In this world, she had no reputation to consider, no social rank to damage. What occurred between them was magickal, to be sure, but in the grander picture, moot.
Besides, if he entertained any other option, he would end up compromising her.
Her lips were too full. Her eyes were too engulfing. The tip of her chin, the curve of her collarbone, the way she felt in his arms, the sound of her whimpers under his touch.
“Enough, Quinlan,” he chided himself. He had to banish such thoughts. His body grew erect within seconds of them, and he knew how easily lust clouded judgment. A clear head, wits about him, would mean the difference between life and death—if what Daniel claimed was true.
Guilt pressed down upon him. Where was Daniel? He’d not forgive himself if the lad had met harm. How could he face Breanne with anything of the like? Perhaps he should leave Ailyn to her brother and search Daniel out.
He pulled his mount to a halt and began to veer back despite the darkening sky.
A piercing screech rent the air.
Quinlan halted again, the hairs on his neck standing at attention. Alarm trickled down his spine, welling up in his chest. Ailyn. He abandoned his search and kicked his stallion forward. He wove through the trees, cursing the quickly vanishing daylight. Or was this darkening from hours passing? The low light was not the mark of a coming storm, though. What else could drown the sun’s rays? His alarm grew.
He urged his stallion into the clearing, scanning for signs of her. “Ailyn!” he called, looking left, then right.
The fire had all but extinguished, leaving a few burning embers behind. The blanket he had given Colm lay rumpled on the grass far from the pool’s mossy bank. Quinlan slid off his horse and called out again. “Ailyn!”
Where was she? Where was her brother?
The familiar eerie curl of dread wound through him, identical to the night at the bonfire. Something was feeling its way through this meadow. The seconds ticked by as he tethered his horse next to hers, still there, quietly nipping at grass.
A thin, violet tendril appeared above the water, lighting its surface. The glow revealed hair the color of the darkest, most vibrant sunset, swirling beneath. Ailyn!
Quinlan tugged his mantle free, kicked his shoes off, and strode half-clad into the water. The bottom sloped at a steep angle. He dove forward, reaching out. As his hands touched her shoulder, her head broke the surface. Water splashed. She gasped for air, coughing. She took his hand, then his arm. Her eyes searched his out through wet lashes.
“Help, please. It’s gone! My pendant. It’s gone,” Ailyn pleaded.
His heart clenched. The severe scolding that had formed on his lips died away. “Gone where, lass?”
“It must have fallen off when you tossed me in.” She wiped at her face, at tears, he realized.
“Where is Colm?”
“He’s gone. A wolf again. He tried. He did. But the water did something to him.” Her gaze fixed on something behind him, her eyes widening. “Do you see that?”
If she meant the growing amethyst shimmer surrounding them in pale wisps, then, aye, he saw. Her eyes met his. “The veil?”
Quinlan shook his head. Was she asking him? The eerie sensation he’d had on land didna follow him into the water. Here, they were safe. He pulled her closer, craving her heat, needing to feel her securely against him. “I dinna ken what it is. Your sidhe magick?”
Ailyn frowned. She shook her head. “Not the veil. It’s different. I dinna ken what it is, either.” Her eyes went to his mouth. She licked her lips. “Will you help me, Quinlan?”
He nearly groaned. Aye, he’d help her. He’d do anything for her in that moment. Anything she asked of him. He drew her weight even closer so that her hips hit his waist. His groin hardened. He fought to think straight. “What do you need of me, lass?”
&nbs
p; She swallowed. Again, she looked at his mouth. “Help me find my pendant?”
When she looked back into his eyes, what he saw there sucked the breath from his lungs. She wanted him. Badly. And she looked as wrought with conflict over it as he now felt. The smoky hue around them pinked, then burned a brilliant gold. Quinlan hungered to taste her mouth, to move her body against his as they kicked to keep afloat. He wanted to lick the droplets of water from her chin and nose, to warm her skin with his.
To drive into her tight heat. To hear his name on her lips.
“Ailyn,” he said, hoarse.
The now-amber light lit the watery depths, showing the shape of her breast crushed against his arm. Her thighs as her legs swept side to side as the kept afloat. Her lashes seemed to sparkle, wet, framing her beseeching eyes.
Quinlan’s erection throbbed. But he nodded. “Aye, lass. I’ll help.”
She pulled away, swimming back. The lit water revealed her tunic billowing upward. The creamy expanse of her slender waist begged for his touch. The bottom curve of her breasts peeked out. Christ, he wanted her. Adjusting his aching prick, he gulped air and dove under the surface. He had to escape such a delectable view before it undid him.
This was entirely his fault.
Had he not tossed her in, her pendant would be still with her. His guilty mind wanted it to be untrue. It wanted to argue how many other ways the pendant could have been lost. That Kristoph had in fact found it and taken it. That Colm had stolen it somehow, tricking his sister. That the man he met wasna her brother at all, but the sorcerer in disguise.
Ailyn might attract trouble, she might have behaved rashly a time or two, but at no point had she been unwilling to accept matters. He had to trust that she’d already considered all other possibilities in his absence.
He looked for the gold chain, the small, pale stone. He fingered through the fronds, careful not to disturb the earth. Her toe touched his leg. His lungs begged for air. He swam back upward into the golden glow. Unfortunately, the lit depths displayed more of her. The curve of her bottom, the hollow of her hips. The rosy color of two taut nipples beneath the pooling fabric of her shirt. Her legs opening and closing. Quinlan looked away, diving deeper, scanning the green fronds along the bottom once more.
Her foot grazed his thigh. He caught it for a moment to let her know he was there. She stilled, then sank under, the question in her eyes. Had he found it? Quinlan shook his head, hating the disappointment crossing her features.
She dove down past him as he broke the surface upward. The sky was dark above the pool, the trees lit here and there with the strange magickal wisps. Quinlan listened in the stillness, realizing the water had warmed as well as the air. As warm as a summer day, but without the glare of sunlight. The images of her body warred in his thoughts with the urge to help her.
Where else could they look? The pool was small enough, he supposed. Searching it to her satisfaction was the best solution. Deep down, though, he sensed they’d not find it.
When she broke the surface a moment later, he reached for her, pulling her close so that she could rest her weight on his arm. “If I dinna find it—” Her voice cracked. Her chin trembled.
“Shh,” Quinlan said, tucking her chin with his thumb. “We’ll find it.”
She pursed her lips, blinked back the wetness in her eyes, and nodded. “Thank you.”
He kissed her. He couldn’t survive another breath without kissing her. The shine in her eyes, the glow about her cheeks, and the magick around them conspired against his good intentions. He pressed his lips to hers without reserve. He released his hunger in full upon her and she answered in kind. She closed the space between their bodies, grabbing his head and moaning.
She tasted like honey and heaven. Quinlan could drown in the very feel of her. Water hit his chin. Their bodies were sinking. He pushed his legs out, sending them toward the shore and twisted so that she landed beneath him upon the shallow slope. He cupped her head, easing it against the soft ground. He swept under her back to push away any rocks.
He needed her. His very sanity hinged upon keeping her in this embrace a bit longer. And then a bit longer than that. He devoured her mouth, moving his tongue against hers, reveling in the pliant feel of her body. She fit to him so finely.
The warm water ebbed at her ribs, floating her hips up to his.
He couldn’t do it.
Honor said he must stop. She had refused him, had no desire to marry him. To continue was to utterly disregard her choice. To remove all choice and force her hand in marriage. How could he stop this bliss, though? He could take her. He could feel it in her every move.
Nay.
He broke the kiss. Ailyn opened her eyes. “Dinna stop, Quin. Please,” she said.
His fragile hold on reason broke. Groaning deeply,, he cupped her naked, wet breast and kissed her throat. Ailyn moaned, holding his head, arching into his palm. He flicked his thumb over her hard nipple. She gasped. His prick ached, straining against the cumbersome material.
Then her hand was at his waist, slipped under the wet cloth. When she grasped his erection into her warm hand, Quinlan almost bucked. Her touch might have spilled his seed if not for years of practice. Still, he’d not experienced such intense lust for a woman in all his years. He blamed the strangely deep possessive feelings she’d inspired in him. He wanted to claim her in an indelible way, to brand her soul.
He wanted to hear her say his name.
Her hand squeezed. She stroked his flesh. He squeezed her breast hard, gripped by the play of passion on her features, in her movements. Her eyes did not shy from his. They held his gaze intently, a fire for him burning in their depths.
Quinlan tugged her breeches down her hips. “Say it, lass. Tell me again.”
“Dinna stop.”
Her eyes closed as he pushed his hand downward, her body curving to meet him. Soft, wet curls tickled his fingertips. Her lids fluttered open.
“This is madness,” she said.
“Aye. Madness, to be sure, but I canno’ hold back any longer, Ailyn. Unless you tell me to stop, I canno’.” He slipped one finger into her exquisite heat, thrilling at the way her lips parted in pleasure. “I ache for you.”
She pulled his shoulders, pushed her pelvis to meet his hand. His finger sank deeper into her soft, hot flesh. Her hand stroked up and down his prick, pulling him to her. She wanted it within her. Nothing could satisfy him more. The very thought of burying his prick in that heat almost sent him again over the edge.
He pulled his hips back, loosing her grasp, pushing her out of the water enough so that he could free her from the sodden clothing. He accomplished the same for himself. Lying atop her, their naked lengths met, warming, enticing. Quinlan watched her eyes as he drew closer, waiting for any signs to cease his pursuit.
She only encouraged him forth. Her hands grabbed his hips, and her breasts arched toward his mouth. He captured one nipple and then the next. Ailyn writhed and groaned. Her hips wound desperate circles against his stomach. How did he give her what she deserved—a languorous pleasure unlike any she could imagine or previously experienced—if she kept him at his own precipice?
He laved a trail down her belly and cupped her hips. He sucked one inner thigh and then the other, leading closer and closer to her glistening sex. He licked, suckled, and teased until the taste of her arousal met his tongue. He groaned over the slick proof of her anticipation, the way her body clutched at his tongue for more.
Aye, he had more to give her.
His prick hardened like a stone, swollen, demanding a taste of this honey.
Quinlan could not wait any longer. If he did not take her now, he’d climax without her and end the hope of giving her the end they both so deeply craved. Her eyes pleaded with him.
“Quinlan, I…I….”
“Aye, lass, I feel it, too.” He had no word for it, this severe need to simply exist within her sheath. As though only their union could complete him. Like air. Like wat
er. Like life itself.
He pressed the tip of his prick to her slender core. “Tell me,” he said, refusing any doubts to linger.
Ailyn nodded. “Aye, Quinlan. I need you.”
The satisfaction those words wrought nearly compared to the pure physical relief of easing into her tight walls. Nearly. Feck, but he’d pour into her if he wasna careful. He focused all his energy on keeping his climax at bay but a moment longer.
She wriggled beneath him, gasping, her gaze desperate.
Quinlan knew he should be gentle. This was her first knowledge of a man, and he should take great care. He couldna. Passion overtook reason. His eyes on her face, he pulled his prick out and drove it in. Again. Again. She met his hips with equal demand, slamming up to him.
His prick throbbed. “Feck.” He paused, buried inside her.
He sucked at her throat, counting the seconds as his climax receded a safe distance. Then the hunger returned. Naught could stop him. Hell itself could have surrounded them to swallow them alive, and he’d not have seen it. Or stopped.
“Ailyn,” he said, pushing his prick into her again. He rocked their bodies, closing his eyes when pleasure sucked up through him so intense he thought he might die in it.
Then her body squeezed around him in tight spasms. Quinlan opened his eyes, his seed shooting into her unbidden. He released a guttural groan, pumping into her body, watching pleasure grip her as his did him. Something magickal shone in her eyes, something more than the golden glow weaving around them. Something that reached down into his heart. A thought whispered through him—if the chance presented itself, even by the steepest odds and highest stakes, he would take it.
If Quinlan discovered a way, he would make this lass his.
Forever.
Chapter Eighteen
By Brigit, Morrigan, and the harvest moon! Ailyn was stunned by the pleasure Quinlan had just given her. Blessed be, but she had never thought such bliss existed. How was she supposed to proceed with life in general after experiencing something so…altering?
