Heart of the Hunter

by Lara Adrian

  "And yet how easily you got involved. Why didn't you just take the satchel from me? You certainly had the chance--more than once. Why let me believe that you--" She broke off, unwilling to humiliate herself with a heated challenge of his feelings. "Why let me think that you would help me?"

  "I never meant to hurt you, Ariana."

  She rejected his assertion with a curt shake of her head. "You would let my brother die to make sure no one reaches that damned Chalice treasure before you do."

  "Not if it can be helped. Believe me--"

  "Believe you? I can never believe another thing you say. How can I ever trust you? Give me your horse. I am going back to Rouen."

  "It's a trap."

  She hesitated, then continued to mount the palfrey. "It is my only chance. Let go of the reins, I demand you."

  "I'm not letting you go, Ariana. I'm not going to let you walk headlong into your own death at the hands of Silas de Mortaine."

  "Nay, deceiver. My meeting is with--"

  "Master Jacques Delavet, the old Templar official at the church in town."

  Ariana whirled on him, astonished.

  "You met with him this morning. I saw you leaving; he watched you depart from the yard. Delavet didn't send you the note at the Cross and Scallop. In fact, I suspect the old graybeard breathed his last not long after you left the Templar church. Silas would not want to leave any loose ends."

  "How could you know this?"

  "The same way you suspected I found you. I watched, and I listened. That Templar cleric who brought you the missive today at the inn--"

  "Brother Arnaud." She shook her head, brow pinched in sudden understanding. "Then, you were there at the inn as well? It was so crowded. I didn't see you."

  Braedon gave a vague shrug. "I did not want to be seen. The cleric who delivered your message left the Cross and Scallop and reported back to Silas de Mortaine."

  "Why should I trust anything you say? How can I be sure you aren't using me again somehow--using me still?"

  "I only want to help you. I only want to know that you are safe."

  She scoffed, resting her back against the solid girth of the horse. "I might have believed you before last night. Now, I know better. Would that I had found you out before your actions put Kenrick in greater jeopardy."

  "I should have told you about the map," Braedon said, his gaze muted with a nearly convincing look of regret. "When I saw what it could mean to de Mortaine, if Kenrick's ideas were correct, how easy it would make Silas's quest for the other pieces of the Dragon Chalice, I should have explained to you that it had to be destroyed."

  "You had no right to touch anything in that satchel," she told him, trying to maintain her anger even though the fact that he was there, the fact that he knew where she had been and who she had spoken with, gave her pause.

  "I can help you in this, Ariana, but you have to trust me. I never meant to use you. God knows, I never meant to hurt you in any way."

  "Well, you have."

  "I know. And I am sorry for all of it. But you must believe me now, Ariana. If you go to that meeting place today, you go to your certain death."

  How foolish was she to consider his counsel after what he might have cost her? As stubbornly as she wanted to cling to her mistrust of him, she could not dismiss his warning altogether. "You are sure of this? You're saying the message I received at the inn came from this--from Silas de Mortaine--and not Master Delavet?"

  Braedon nodded once, a sober admission.

  Ariana frowned, considering. "I don't understand. If that's true, then why would Silas want to meet with me?" She withdrew the note from the fitted sleeve of her gown, unfolded the parchment, and handed it to him. "If what you say is true, why would he ask me to bring Kenrick's satchel when he already has it? Surely Draec must have delivered it to..."

  Her voice trailed off as realization began to dawn. Braedon glanced up from reading the brief missive, a glint of cunning in his eyes. "He doesn't have it. Draec is playing some manner of game. He did not return to Rouen with the satchel last night."

  "Would he try to cheat Silas, knowing how dangerous he is?"

  "Draec le Nantres would cheat his own sire if it suited his purpose. Thank God," he added with a low chuckle. "He just bought us a chance to rescue your brother. Perhaps our only chance."

  "What can we do?"

  "Not we, Ariana--you. De Mortaine cannot know that I am with you in this. We must make sure he believes you are in Rouen alone, and that you have exactly what he wants. But first, we need to make sure your brother is still alive." When Ariana winced slightly and glanced down, Braedon lifted her chin on his fingertips and met her gaze. "We have a good chance, my lady. Let us make use of it."

  She nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for Braedon's presence even while she fought the warming of her heart. Despite all logic, she felt safe when she was with him. In the presence of this scarred, dangerous man, she felt protected. And though she would not permit herself to tell him, in that moment, she was so very glad he was there.

  "Tell me, Ariana," he said, "is there some secret between Kenrick and you? Something only he would know--a date of some significance, or a shared jest that he might recall?"

  She thought for a moment, then lit upon her answer. "A name," she said, eager to put Braedon's plan underway. "There is a name he will remember if asked about it."

  "Good. That will serve as our proof. We'll take word to de Mortaine that unless we get the answer we are looking for, the satchel stays with us."

  "Will it work?" Ariana asked, weathering a sudden twinge of worry. "What if he refuses to submit to our demands?"

  "He won't refuse. So long as he thinks we have the satchel, de Mortaine will do whatever we ask." Braedon cupped her cheek in his palm. "Come. There's got to be a country cleric somewhere around here. We'll have him pen our demands, then we'll have the missive delivered yet this evening."

  "Then what?"

  "We wait."

  * * *

  Less than an hour after it was sent, their message to Silas de Mortaine came back with an answer. Through a hastily constructed network of messengers--one paid to wait on the missive at the Templar church, another to intercept and carry it to the city gates, and a third to bring it to Braedon where he waited under the cover of forest nearly a mile outside of Rouen--the simple proof of Kenrick's survival arrived. Braedon glanced at the single word scrawled in a bold, if somewhat shaky hand, and he smiled. With a measuring scan of his surroundings to make certain he was not being watched or followed, he gave his horse a nick of his heels and headed back for the ruined abbey to give Ariana the news.

  She was waiting deep within the shell of the tumble-down cloisters, seated on a lump of blankets and furs he'd given her before he left, and warming her hands before the orange glow of a small fire as he rode within the ruin and dismounted. She got to her feet the instant she saw him, and took a hesitant step toward him. Worry tightened her throat. "So soon?"

  Braedon held up the folded missive. "I told you de Mortaine would oblige."

  "Have you read it?" She took another step, then halted suddenly, not daring to hope. "Did...did Kenrick answer?"

  Braedon nodded. "He is alive."

  "Thank God!" Ariana ran to him, taking the piece of parchment from his outstretched hand. She unfolded it with trembling fingers, her gaze lighting on the word that came back in answer from her brother's captors. "Jonah," she said, laughing as she looked up at Braedon. "Only Kenrick would know the name of the kitten I tried to save at Clairmont the day I was locked in the storeroom. He dubbed it Jonah, for the way we both were swallowed up in darkness--as though the kitten and I had been trapped in the belly of a whale. Oh, Braedon," she said, circling her arms around him in a fierce embrace, "Kenrick is alive!"

  He brought his hands down upon her shoulders and smiled, his gaze telling her he shared her relief. Perhaps he knew her joy, and took some measure of pride for his part in it. Ariana gazed up at him in gratitude, i
ndeed, in something far deeper than that simple regard. She wanted no more anger between them, no matter what lay ahead of them still. She wanted no more mistrust or fear to separate them. Needing to feel the strength of his embrace, she held him tighter, resting her cheek against the solid warmth of his chest. "I want it to be over," she whispered. "I just...I want this all to be over now."

  Braedon gently encircled her in his arms and held her close, petting her hair as he whispered soft words of comfort beside her ear. "Soon, I promise. Everything will be all right. Your brother is alive. I won't let anything happen to him now." He tilted her face on the edge of his hand and guided her misting gaze up at him. "I'll lay down my life to spare you any more pain, Ariana. You must know that."

  He bent his head toward hers, and sealed his promise with a kiss. At once tender and consoling, there was also a possessiveness in the brush of contact as their mouths met. Ariana opened to him with a small gasp, parting her lips and reaching up to him with clutching, needful hands. There was a wealth of longing in her embrace, but she made no attempt to conceal it, for that same need she felt in him burned within her, too. With a groan, he dragged her farther into his arms, pressing into the soft yield of her body. He framed her face in his palms, his fingers trembling against her skin as he kissed her toward the brink of a heavenly madness.

  "Ariana," he murmured against her mouth. "Would that I could take it all back. I would start over, if I could. I swear it."

  She touched his cheek with her fingertips, a tender tracing of the scar that savaged his face. He was handsome, even with his flaws. Maybe more so, because of all he had been through and survived. He was a hard man, an arrogant man, but he had captured her heart like no other before him. As no other would, she admitted, if only to herself. "Thank you, Braedon," she whispered, caressing his proud jaw. "Thank you for coming after me. For being here now."

  He caught her hand and held it to his mouth, placing a kiss in the tender cradle of her palm. Ariana moistened her lips, watching as he traced his lips along the inner side of her wrist. He kissed her then, once more, and she was lost. Sweeping his tongue along the pliant seam of her mouth, he suckled her, a passionate claiming that called to places deep inside her.

  She should not want him so, but there was no denying the heat that beckoned her to him. There was no shred of resistance there to summon, not when she still thrummed with the stunning awakening he had brought to her body the night before. Nay, her heart yearned for him all the more, now that she was touching him, kissing him, again. With a soft cry of longing, she dropped her head back and plunged her fingers into the hair at his nape, holding him to her and reveling in the sensual press of his hips against her body.

  "Braedon," she whispered. "Braedon, please...I need you tonight. I need you to hold me."

  "Ah, my lady. Have I have corrupted you so?" he asked, pausing to wickedly stroke the delicate bones at the base of her neck.

  A braided cord held her mantle securely about her shoulders. Braedon deftly loosened the little knot and let the heavy cloak fall down around their feet. The ties of her kirtle's bodice were his next course of attack. He spread the neckline of her gown, baring her skin to his gaze, and his touch. Ariana's breathing picked up speed as he lavished in a slow worship of her, tracing a lazy trail down the slope of her bosom. Her shallow gasps puffed from her parted lips, steaming in the cool night air. Braedon kissed the rise of her breast, flicking his tongue against the flushing pink of her skin.

  She clutched at him with guileless, searching hands, her body trembling and quaking with his simplest touch. The stubble of his beard dragged against her skin as he moved to sample more of her. He kissed his way to her other breast, letting his tongue dip into the cleft of her bosom, nipping at her and wringing a mewl of pleasure from the very core of her being.

  "'Tis not enough to sate me," he told her, teasing her further with his sensual kisses and a purely carnal look of hunger. "Not nearly enough."

  He slipped his fingers inside the bodice of her kirtle and found the pebbly bud of her nipple. He filled his hand with the warm buoyancy of her breast, caressing her, fondling that tight pearl, which peaked and hardened under his touch. He freed her from the bodice and with an almost savage growl, he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. Ariana gasped at the pleasure of it, her body nearly melting where she stood. She caressed the back of his skull, her fingers twining in his hair, hands fisting, as she curved into him with a whimper.

  "I need you, Ariana. I need you now."

  "Yes," she gasped. "Oh, Braedon...yes."

  He said nothing more as he bent to scoop her into his arms and carry her to the nest of coverlets near the fire. His gaze held hers, those mutable gray eyes hooded, deepened to obsidian pools as he placed her before him on her knees, then sank down with her onto the furs and blankets. Ariana reached out to stroke his jaw with welcoming understanding, her breath rolling from between her lips as she whispered his name once more. "Come to me, my lord. I need you, too."

  She touched him again, a feather-light grazing of her fingers on his scar, then bolder, as her hand skated down his neck and along the front of his tunic. She caressed his warm skin beneath the wool, allowing her hand to quest lower, over the muscled firmness of his belly. "God help me," he rasped, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "Do not stop there, my lady."

  She knew at once what he wanted, and slid her palm lower still, past the snug waist of his hose, to the swelling thrust of his arousal. She gripped him in her palm, squeezing his generous girth through the loose fabric that shrouded him, her gaze rooted on his. "More?" she asked, willfully teasing him with the friction of her hand on his member.

  His reply was little more than an oath, strangled and rough with fever. Ariana stroked him more purposefully, brazen with this new feeling of power. She squeezed the rigid column of flesh, exalting in the hiss of pleasure that sifted between his teeth as he surged harder, larger, in her palm. "You will unman me, vixen."

  "I think I should like to try."

  "Bent on conquest, are you, lady?" He gave a deep, breathless laugh. "God's truth, but you already have me on my knees before you."

  "Good," she purred, moving closer to him. "I cannot think of any better place for you, sirrah."

  His slow, spreading smile held a wealth of masculine amusement. "I imagine I can think of a few better places for me. And for you." He lifted a dark brow. "Have a care, wench, or I might press you down and give you an example."

  He sat back on his heels as he said it, widening his legs to give her greater access to him, clearly thrilling in his own capitulation as he thrust deeply into her commanding grasp. The linen of his clothing rasped against Ariana's palm, and against his stiffened member, which grew harder, more demanding. He groaned and closed his eyes, allowing her to drive him mindless with sensation. He watched her through half-lidded eyes as she slid her fingers to the waistband of his drawers. His strong hands threaded through her hair as she bent over him, untying the laces that would free him of the restraining clothes.

  Ariana made quick work of the points and ties. With the last undone, the front of his hose sagged low on his hips and his sex sprang free, thick and smooth, glistening with the evidence of his arousal. The same need throbbed in her. The hand that had been moving in her hair now stilled. His palm cupped the back of her skull, firm with meaning. His eyes fixed on hers, he slowly guided her toward him. "I am desperate for you, angel. Please..."

  She knew what he was asking of her, although a few nights ago it would have been unimaginable to her to think it, much less to want so badly to do it. More than anything, she wanted to pleasure him. She needed him in ways she could hardly fathom. Like this, she thought, admiring the magnificence of his body. She stroked his naked member, thrilling in the tortured groan he gave when she traced her fingers over the smooth head and down along the rigid shaft. Licking her lips, Ariana bent her head over him to take him into her mouth.

  "Ah...God." Braedon shuddered as h
er lips closed over his manhood. He sucked in a breath through clamped teeth, fisting his hand in her hair. Ariana drew on him gently at first, uncertain quite how to proceed, but even that teasing kiss of contact seemed to enflame him. She slid more of his length into her mouth, letting her tongue dance along the under edge of him as she grew more bold. Gathering her hair in his hand, he lifted the mass away from her face so he could watch her taste him. The thought of him seeing her lips slide along his shaft only heightened Ariana's pleasure in the act. It made her take him deeper, each rough breath that soughed past his lips an encouragement to be more brazen. Each thrust of his hips, pumping in time with her rhythm, an invitation to be more ruthless in her assault on his senses.

  Gasping, trembling, he suddenly took her by the shoulders and set her away from him. "I am your slave, lady," he said, an accusation and a plea, his voice rough with unspent passion. "Let me please you, Ariana."

  He hauled her up onto her knees, framing her face in his hands as he bent down to capture her mouth with his. The musk of his body was salty-sweet in her nostrils and on her tongue. She reveled in the earthiness of their kiss, her limbs going boneless as Braedon pushed her down onto her back on the nest of coverlets. With a feral growl, he flung up her skirts, baring her to his roving gaze. He smoothed his hands up her legs, past the tops of her woolen hose, until his fingers trailed along the sensitive skin of her naked thighs. He caressed them both, then spread them wide. The backs of his knuckles skated over the thatch of springy curls between her legs, then down along the moist cleft of her womanhood. "So sweet," he praised her, "so ready for me."

  With his gazed locked on hers, he slid his palms beneath her buttocks and lifted her hips off the ground, bending over her like a supplicant at the altar. Her scent filled his nostrils, clean and womanly and sweet, a perfume of the most seductive power. He nuzzled her mound, parting her swollen folds with the tip of his tongue, cleaving her petals to find the pearl secreted within them. He suckled her as she had done him, enveloping the bud of her sex in his mouth, tonguing the tight nub until she was writhing and gasping in his arms, quivering with the impending onslaught of rapture. He sucked her deeper, ruthlessly feeding on her, holding her thighs apart and driving her toward her bliss. A shudder racked her, ecstasy so near it was dizzying. She cried his name, her back arching high, her body taut, hands clutching at him in mindless frenzy as her climax seized her.