by Jaide Fox
She sniffed inelegantly and murmured, “I notice you don't even ask if I'm hurt!”
“Well, are you? Is there something the ring cannot cure?”
Turning her head to the side, she gritted out, “Yes! It can stop me from dying but it can't take the aches away.” Her tone was slightly angry and slightly petulant.
“Poor baby,” he murmured huskily. “Would you like me to kiss it better?”
Stunned, she froze and then heat, of a different variety to the healing ritual, flooded her and melted her bones. Isabeau wanted to tell him to go, to leave her alone, but her body did not want that. It wanted him. She croaked out the word, “No.”
“I think you're lying,” he murmured and crawled towards her.
The crinkle of the leaves wase abominably loud in her ear but her heart literally paused as she waited for him to reach her.
There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted him to touch her and the husky note in his voice told her that he wanted to do just that.
She licked her lips and shuddered when she felt the warmth of his body move nearer to her. Unable to help herself, she lay down on the ground and waited for him to touch her, waiting and willing for it to happen. A part of her knew it was madness to accept and even want his touch, but it wasn't necessarily Isabeau that wanted it. Her body craved his with a hunger that surprised her. Having never experienced the like it came as a great shock to realize that this was what passion felt like.
When he neared her and she felt the slight brush of his breath against her parted lips, she waited for him to drop down to kiss her and wasn't disappointed when he did just that.
The press was gentle at first, but all the more powerful for it. His hand slid along the curve of her jaw and down to her throat. She felt unbearably fragile, when her skin reacted to his touch and she realized how large his hand actually was. Isabeau felt supremely feminine at that moment and reveled in it.
The callused palm scratched the tender skin at her throat and slid along the curve of her shoulder. It was only then that she realized the talons of the griffin had actually dug rather deep and she hissed as his fingers moved away. Summoning the healing spell for the third time that evening, she felt the bolts of heat shudder through her and could actually hear the skin close up as it fused together once more.
A slight...she could only call it a tingle, told her that her healing energy was almost spent. She would need to recharge, need to bask in the light of the sun if she were to call on the powers again.
But she ignored that and noted that it was his turn to hiss but rather than pulling away, he traced the once-broken skin with his fingers and continued to kiss her. Her tongue peeped out and once he brushed hers with his, she groaned and opened her mouth further to welcome his explorations.
She felt both devoured and excited, as their mouths fought one another in an almost intimate duel. It was a battle that he won and she was glad he did.
When his fingers cupped the swell of her bust and traced the sensitive flesh of the mound that was bare to his gaze from the design of the dress' décolletage, she gasped.
Once more, her sounds of pleasure jolted him from his perusal and he pulled away.
Gruffly, he muttered, “We must go. The griffin will return, Isabeau.”
The huskiness in his voice did not abate the tension in her body and even though she had welcomed his caresses, had enjoyed and wanted more, she disliked how he managed to contain his own feelings for her, where she couldn't. Perhaps it was inexperienced of her, but she believed that for him to be able to pull away as he had done twice now, that his feelings for her weren't as strong as hers for him.
She sat up, embarrassed. Once again, she had lain submissively, passively as she let him touch and kiss her. And once again, he had been the one to disconnect their mouths.
It didn't matter that he was right. That the griffin could and would come back. It hurt inside and she hated that. It was strange to distrust her own body. How could something her senses welcomed be so wrong for her?
She sighed when he jumped to his feet and held out a hand for her to join him. She accepted it but pulled away from him completely.
“Why don't you let me go, Wolfe? Either that, or tell me what you want,” Isabeau muttered grimly, as they walked through the woods. It was easier this time, for in Wolfe's hand--to be precise, hovering above his hand--was a ball of flames that guided their path.
Had she not taken part in his dream and seen similar bolts being shot out of nowhere to alight the Great Hall, she would more than likely have been terrified!
“I can't let you go, Isabeau.”
“Why not? I would have thought you would be grateful to get rid of me! I've attacked you, hurt your...well, your man thing, I've caused you great expense. Yet, all you have done so far is lock me up in a gilded cage! At least tell me what you want from me!”
He sighed and said, “You are so certain that I want something from you? It's not just the ring?”
She stiffened at that and spun around to shoot him down with a glare. “If you had only wanted the ring, then you would have taken just that and left me in the woods, where you found me. There is something that you believe you require from me as well as the ring. Something that...Jaegar...obviously doesn't know about as he only wanted the jewelry.” She paused. “Why aren't you angry? I attacked you!”
“Feeling guilty?” he retorted mockingly.
She blushed but shook her head, furious. “No! You deserved it! You may have treated me with kindness, but you have still taken my freedom from me!”
“I'm not angry, because whilst it hurt, it is nothing less than I deserve. I know it is wrong for me to have taken you captive, Isabeau. I'm not a complete monster, you know.” He laughed harshly at that, almost as though it were a private joke. “I...I do need something from you. If you do it for me, then I shall let you go.”
“Do I have your word on that?”
“I'm surprised you countenance anything that I put my word to! But yes, you have my word. I will release you if you help me.”
Chapter Six
The walk back to the castle was fraught with tension for Isabeau. She was both curious about why he needed her help so badly. Then she was angry at his ability to pull away from her during the throes of their passion.
Wolfe remained silent throughout the ten minute walk and while she longed to start a conversation, speak about why he required her aid and so desperately, she knew that he wouldn't talk until he was ready. It was in the stern set of his jaw and the grim cast of his features.
Whatever it was, it was clearly evident that he did not look forward to discussing it.
An aura of glum displeasure settled about him and it made her anxious, which merely made her inner tension rise. What could it be? Was it really so terrible?
A part of her feared that it would be! That it would be illegal or immoral. Involve a sacrifice or even murder!
The longer the silence continued, the more fanciful her imagination became and she grew more and more creative. Picturing herself in a black robe with goat's blood on her cheeks, she jumped, startled, when he gave her his hand and helped her walk the stairs.
Inwardly, she was shocked at this gentlemanly display, but she supposed it was better late than never.
The Great Hall was not only filled with people, who she took to be a part of his staff, but also filled with hundreds and hundreds of lights. So bright was the huge chamber that it almost appeared to be daylight!
She blinked to dispel the darkness and grimaced as her eyes adjusted yet again to this flood of brilliance. Why everything of import over the last few days had taken place at night, Isabeau did not know!
She felt at her best during the day and while her powers of healing had remained strong, thank the Lord, they had now almost run out. Not only that, but there was not a chance that she would be able to sustain a disguise for a long period of time without feeling the light of the sun on her face. Tomorrow, she would ha
ve to feel the sun's rays upon her flesh, if she wished to use her powers again.
If he upheld his agreement and allowed her to leave his castle if she helped him, then she would need a disguise to keep her safe as she traveled. Usually, she traveled in the form of an old crone. She was left alone that way.
With an inner grumble, she nodded to the butler and housekeeper, who bowed and curtsied respectively and gave a blank smile to the rest of the gathered staff. When once more she passed the stained glass window that depicted a griffin, she finally understood why it was there--because the Sinclair's wood homed....goodness knows how many of the rotten beasts!
Sticking her nose up in the air in annoyance, she then proceeded to purse her lips, when the stairs to ascend from the Great Hall appeared before her very eyes. The ones that only a few short hours ago had disappeared!
“The stairs?!” she protested, confused and angry.
“Enchanted, milady,” was all he said and that was all the information she would receive out of his mouth! She could tell by the sternness of his face.
With a pout, she took to the stairs and within moments, Wolfe had returned her to his mother's old chamber.
Rather than remain there, however, he led her into another room, through a door she had not even seen! It was hidden behind paneling and she gasped in awe as they walked into a sitting room that was terribly charming.
Not only was it enormous, but it was also wonderfully pretty. The walls were a charming honey color and matched the deep, rich walnut furniture, which consisted of a huge grand piano in one corner and a settee in another with a dark ocher for its cushions. There were two surprisingly masculine, tan leather club chairs clustered together around a teaboy, upon which rested a fresh bouquet of spring flowers. The settee and leather clubs squatted before a large Adam fireplace, above which, was a large gilt, ornate mirror in definite Louis XVI style.
Altogether, it was a very pleasing room and she could even imagine herself, sitting here one cold evening before the fire with her embroidery as Wolfe drank a brandy and studied the flames.
She closed her eyes at the thought, because it simply wasn't done to imagine that kind of domestic scene with one's captor!
Inwardly crying, she stalked forwards and took a seat on one of the club chairs. In her years as a runaway, she had grown accustomed to seating herself like a man, and so she let her back touch the seat, but kept her legs tucked together in the way she had been raised.
In this room, with this man, it felt very wrong to be seated this way. It had been less of a serious etiquette faux pas in taverns and the like.
He, on the other hand, ignored her sitting position and for the most part, ignored even her! He stalked about the room like an angry, wounded beast, until he reached one of the French windows and finally grunted out, “You have oft asked me, why you are here. Well. I shall tell you.”
He paused for such a long time that Isabeau thought he had either forgotten what he was about to say, or he simply wanted to frustrate her!
“You are...aos sí.”
“I am?”
He grunted again. This time in annoyance. “Do you not know of the aos sí? You are a Sidhe.” He then amended on a rush. “Of the light.”
“A sidhe of the light?” she asked and licked her lips nervously.
He nodded.
Her jaw popped open and closed for a few moments and then she coughed.
“I am...a sidhe of the light.” She gulped.
“Are you just going to continue repeating your and myself?” he asked, his tone exasperated.
She coughed. “Well, excuse me for being shocked! Does that mean, I'm what? A fairy?” she wracked her brains as she tried to comprehend the magnitude of what he had just told her.
“You don't look or act like a fairy to me!” Wolfe said with a snort.
Well, that was charming! Wasn't it?
“I thought the sidhe...well, were banished underground by the Milesians?” she asked as she attempted to recall all she had read about the Sidhe.
When the Milesians had attempted to invade early Ireland and conquer the Sidhe's ancestors, they had battled and won. They had forced the Sidhe to live underground, as they lived above. Sidhe loosely translated to 'people of the mounds.'
“Why do you think we live in obscure places! Your original home was well hidden and off the beaten track, as was the manor house in Yorkshire. We hide, my dear, in plain sight.”
“My parents moved from Norwilthton, because they were discovered?”
“Yes.”
She tried to gather together her thoughts and wondered if the Milesians, not content with forcing the Sidhe underground, still had a vendetta against her new-found people. After all, from what she could recall, her ancestors had attempted to trick the Milesians and had gone against their word. The three kings of the Tuatha De Danann had called for a truce and whilst the Milesians had agreed, the kings had created a magical storm to drive the invaders away. They had broken their word and had paid the consequences.
Inwardly, she sighed with relief at her excellent memory, for Wolfe was hardly outspoken as he explained the situation to her!
“Milesians...killed my parents?”
“Yes. Well, their descendants did. We live in constant danger. It is unusual for our enemies to attack those of us who are so prominent in society. Unfortunately, the move your parents made took them even further into obscurity and the ton forgot them. Always dangerous when hiding in plain sight, I'm afraid.
“The majority of the Milesians' descendants don't give a damn about us. They lead their lives and we ours. But, as ever, there is a group who wish to punish the sidhe for our ancestor's broken promises. Rather extreme, I know, but they're still smarting about it to this day.”
Staring down at her hands, Isabeau realized that the perpetrators of her parents' murders were old enemies and as Wolfe said, held a grudge for a very, very, very long time. And they weren't just seeking to kill her parents or herself, but her entire, new-found, race.
“Is this what you need my help with?”
“No. This problem is not new. We have dealt with the Milesians for thousands of years and will continue until the end of time. It is a long battle and one that neither side wins or loses.”
“Then what is the problem?”
He sighed and spun around to face her.
“Are you a...vampyre?” she asked hesitantly.
Wolfe laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. “Is that what you think? You know nothing of what I am, for you know nothing of what you are.” He licked his lips and shrugged. The gesture was jerky and not smooth as it should have been. It told her more than anything of his discomfort.
Striding forwards, he crouched before her and opened up his hand and placed it on her knee. Unthinkingly, she reached forward and picked it, curling her own fingers about his.
“I am your very opposite. A sidhe of the dark. I am not undead. But where you flourish in light, I flourish in the dark.”
“In what way...flourish?” she asked curiously.
His head tilted to one side as he studied her. There was an expression of surprise on his face that puzzled her. Perhaps her reaction had perplexed him. Perhaps he'd expected her to rush from the room and start sobbing.
“In the dark of the night, I can see as well as you can see through the day. I can hear the rush of your blood through your veins and hear the slow beat-bum-beat of your heart. I can feel your heart speed when I touch you. By day...By day...I am.” He looked away and pushed out a breath. “I am tired of being a monster. My temper is voracious and I'm a danger to society if I do not sleep through the hours of the sun. You have the gift of healing. You can and will heal me if you want your freedom.”
