Something to celebrate, not ignore.
So forget the vulnerability. Never mind the embarrassment.
Cosmina refused to entertain either notion. Or allow shame to grow. She flexed her hand, tweaking her sore muscles, feeling her injured arm throb, and indulged in gratitude instead. She’d needed him. He’d provided all she required without hesitation—holding her, warming her, enduring discomfort so she wouldn’t suffer. Add that to the fact he’d saved her life and—aye, pride could go hang itself. Courage deserved equal measure. His had ensured her survival and safety, so no other way to look at it. The situation held no room for humiliation, just heartfelt thankfulness.
Which meant she needed to find and thank Henrik before he left her for good.
Bracing herself, Cosmina gripped the edge of the fur-lined throw. Time to leave the warm comfort of her bed, face the chilly room, and the rest of the day. Not that there was much left of it to conquer. The lone window across the cottage told the tale. Covered by shutters she’d woven from small saplings and leather strips, light crept around its edges and over the sill, allowing her to gauge the time. The end of the day, early evening in all probability. She cringed. Goodness, she’d been asleep for hours. Much longer than usual after suffering a vision.
Or dealing with magic.
A point of concern? Or normal after performing the goddess’ ritual? Excellent questions. Ones best left for another day. She needed to stay focused and on task. Job one equated to finding the man who’d risked his life to keep her safe. After that, there would be plenty of time to figure out what the goddess expected from her next. Once Henrik was gone. Once things returned to normal, and she found herself alone in the Limwoods once more.
The thought sent a pang straight to her heart.
Regret followed. Cosmina swallowed the lump in her throat. Alone. Forever on her own. In the world, but not of it. Strong. Tough. Self-reliant to the point of isolation. She’d played that role for five years, stayed on the fringes, and embraced obscurity. It had seemed fine to her—a true necessity—until last night. Until Henrik. Meeting him inside White Temple had done something strange to her. Poked at her soul. Awakened a yearning. Dragged need to the forefront, forcing her to acknowledge the deprivation she lived with day in and day out. Now her life no longer seemed good enough. It felt bland and colorless, making her long for more. Something better. Something only boldness and a wild sense of adventure would cure.
With a quick flick, she flipped the covers back and pushed herself upright. Cold air rushed in, chasing goose bumps across her skin. She stared down at her bare legs for a moment. Her brows collided. Oh dear. Great heavens. A complete surprise too considering she was half-dressed—no stockings or trews, no sign of her leather tunic or the binding she always wrapped over her breasts either. Just her short braes beneath a too-big linen shirt that didn’t belong to her and . . .
She blinked. Good goddess. Henrik. He’d undressed her while she slept.
The realization should’ve set her back a step. Or, at the very least, lit the fuse on her temper. Somehow, though, it didn’t. Ire remained suspiciously absent. In its place, curiosity bloomed. Had he liked what he’d seen? Did he find her beautiful? Silly questions. Ones that meant naught in the grand scheme of things. He’d been kind and gentle, nothing more—removing damp clothing, seeing to her comfort, tucking her in without waking her . . . caring for her when most men wouldn’t have bothered.
All lovely gestures that didn’t mean a thing.
Anyone with two wits to rub together would realize it. Naught good would come from romanticizing Henrik. Or reading anything into the way he cared for her. Honorable men treated women with respect. ’Twas protocol, a rule among warriors or something, so . . . aye, fantasy needed to stay where it belonged, in the realm of impossibility. Pragmatism owned the here and now. Was as much a part of her life as eating and sleeping. But even as she reminded herself of that, Cosmina pressed her nose to the collar of Henrik’s shirt and took a deep breath.
His scent invaded her scenes.
Pleasure prickled through her. She hummed in reaction. Goddess, he smelled good, like man and musk—of decadence, heat, and perfect summer afternoons. She inhaled again, filling her lungs with him, and called herself a fool as a chasm opened deep inside her. Yearning stepped into the breech, spilling through her until she could no longer deny the truth. She desired him. Wanted to spend a night—hell, strike that, make it a few days—coming to know him as a woman did a man. No holds barred. No shyness. No regret in the aftermath. Just him, her, and an avalanche of satisfaction before they went their separate ways.
Unable to help herself, she drew in his scent again.
“Hmm . . .” She hummed, the sound all kinds of wrong. ’Twas madness. The claw and pull of attraction. Her cresting arousal. The ludicrous way she breathed him in, needing some part of him—any part of him—deep inside her, feeling foolish even as her enjoyment grew. “Henrik.”
Something moved beside her bed. “Here, iubita.”
Cosmina yelped in surprise and skittered backward. The web of ropes beneath her mattress swayed. Her bottom collided with the crooked log posing as a footboard. Rough wood scraped the side of her leg. “Ouch!”
“Christ.”
Arm muscles flexing, Henrik sat up. Sleepy eyes met hers a moment before he tossed a wool blanket aside. Firelight bounced off his leather tunic as he rolled off the floor and shifted to sit on the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped. She peered over the side and around him, focusing on the thin pallet spread out on the dirt floor. Good goddess. He’d been asleep beside her the whole time. Just a few feet away while she’d fantasized about touching him . . .
About being with him.
Running a hand through his messy hair, he stared at her. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay.” Stroking the outside of her thigh, Cosmina rubbed the sting away. “You startled me, ’tis all.”
“Seems to be a running theme with me.”
“Scaring people?”
“Aye.”
“There are worse things.” Like lust. And overwhelming need and crazy, ridiculous desire for the man seated a few feet away. Take your pick. No matter how she sliced it, each one signaled disaster. The kind good girls didn’t come back from in one piece. Another excellent observation. One big problem. Cosmina didn’t give a wit about the danger surrounding him. She wanted to be brave instead—to explore, claim new territory, and conquer it. Or mayhap she should say . . . conquer him. “You don’t scare me.”
He raised a brow. “Nay?”
Holding his gaze, she shook her head. The corners of his mouth tipped up in the beginnings of a smile. ’Twasn’t much, the twitch of his lips, a mere hint of amusement, but it unleashed something inside her. Now she wanted to reach out, bridge the distance and touch him. Run her fingers through the messy strands of his hair. Smooth each lock back into place, discover its softness, and mayhap even—goddess strike her dead for lustful thoughts—revisit his kiss and come to know his taste.
Wicked in so many ways. But oh so tempting too.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” Eyes steady on her, he raised his hand. Flipping it palm up, he invited her to take it and come closer. Her breath caught as she accepted his invitation and slid her hand into his. With a murmur, he laced their fingers together and tugged. She didn’t resist the pull and, knees skimming over the sheet, settled alongside him. “I woke the instant you moved.”
“Oh,” she whispered, warming under his touch, enjoying his scrutiny.
Not hard to do. She liked his gaze on her. Enjoyed the attention and the way he looked at her, with eyes full of appreciation, but . . . gods. As much as she relished his nearness, the weight of his regard made her nervous too. The worst kind of needy, a condition she found difficult to explain. ’Twas unholy and delicious, curious and complex, bedeviling yet oh so compelling. The intensity of it picked her up, swept her along, tigh
tening the muscles over her bones until her skin felt two sizes too small and . . .
Panic prickled through her.
Drat it all. Desire came with all kinds of complications. Not the least of which was instigation. Some sort of action, after all, was required. Let angst win and back away, or be brave and forge ahead. Option two appealed much more. She wanted him. Despite the craziness. Despite her nervousness. Despite everything. Her need for him wasn’t based in logic. Common sense had naught to do with it. ’Twas more of a feeling, the claw and rip of her Seer’s eye. Which begged a question, didn’t it? Was it premonition driven by her gift? Or instincts gone awry? Cosmina didn’t know. But as the silence expanded and she held his gaze, the pressure built inside her head, urging her forward into the uncertain, toward Henrik instead of away.
Butterflies lit off, taking flight across her abdomen. She shifted on her knees, pressing both to the side of Henrik’s thigh. The linen sheet rustled, joining the quiet crackle of the hearth. “You’re a light sleeper.”
“Very.”
“Probably a good thing and, ah . . . necessary. I mean, you can never be too careful, because you know, well . . .” Desperate to gain control of her nerves, she paused.
Patient as ever, Henrik raised a brow and waited for her to continue.
Which—blast it all—made her want to die of embarrassment. Or crawl under the nearest doormat and never come out. Cosmina smothered a grimace. Way to go. Brilliantly played . . . or not. Nothing like acting like a ninny. One who didn’t know what to say to the man she desired in her bed.
“Someone might . . . umm, you know . . . sneak up on you.” Nibbling on the inside of her lip, she forced herself to stay the course. But gods, it was hard not to squirm as his fingers slid between hers. Goose bumps snaked up her arm, making her shiver. “Or something.”
He stroked his thumb across her palm. “You can sneak up on me anytime, Cosmina.”
She frowned. Was that an invitation? Sounded like it, and yet, she couldn’t be sure. Had no way of knowing what he intended. Or how she ought to proceed. Be straightforward and hope for the best? Let the silence stretch until he took the lead? She didn’t know. And Henrik didn’t help her decide. Like a patient predator, he watched and waited for her next move.
Which needed to happen now—before she lost all sense of herself.
Mouth gone dry, she reached for courage. “Can I sneak up on you now?”
Interest sparked in his gaze. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“What you intend.”
Be brave, her mind whispered. Touch him now, desire urged.
Heeding both, Cosmina shook free of his hold and cupped his cheek. He made a gruff sound, one full of surprise as her fingers stroked along his jaw. Rough whiskers rasped against her skin. Prickles of pleasure ghosted up her arm, then turned tail, and cascaded over the tops of her shoulders. She murmured his name, the yearning hard to deny. She heard it in her voice. Felt it as he turned his face into her palm, seeking more of her touch. Her heart hopscotched, rebounding inside her chest as her other hand slid across his nape. Wonderment swirled. Goddess, his hair was soft. So thick. So incredibly dark against her pale skin.
His dark. Her light. A fair comparison.
In truth, it made perfect sense. He’d suffered. Had been caught in something terrible. Instinct and facts gathered by her unnatural talent told her so. She might not understand the extent of it, but as she caressed him—loving him with her hands, finding a place for him in her heart—certain knowledge wielded a heavy weight. Henrik was damaged, just like her. Abandoned. Cast out. Left for dead.
Which made them a sad but perfect fit. Two ruined halves making whole.
Empathy sank deep. Cosmina understood. She really did. He needed softness in his life in the same way she needed companionship and acceptance. She craved true freedom, the right to be herself without the heavy hand of judgment. The idea he might give her all of that made her bold. She wanted to be something other than cautious and afraid. Needed more than mistrust and distance. No worries for the future. No care for the consequences. No time for second-guessing either. Just commitment coupled with a passion so powerful it couldn’t be denied.
Tunneling through his hair, she turned his face toward her. His eyes met hers. She leaned in and touched her lips to the corner of his.
He groaned. “Cosmina.”
“I want to make love with you, Henrik,” she said, laying it on the line, letting honesty lead the way. “I want to know your touch before you leave me.”
“Sweet love.” Eyes dark with desire, he kissed her back. A gentle touch. The merest brush of his mouth against hers—so soft, so sweet, so filled with longing he made her want to cry. “Have you ever been with a man?”
“Aye.”
Surprise made him pause. Raising his head, he brushed the tangle of curls from her temple and retreated enough to look at her. Apprehension lit off, making her heart pound harder. Did her honesty bother him? Did he expect her to be a virgin? Most men would. She’d never been married, after all . . . or even close to betrothed. Another misstep in a whole string of them. She’d lost her innocence years ago. Had made mistake after mistake, trusting the wrong boy, believing the lies he told. And yet as she held Henrik’s gaze, she refused to lie.
Or pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
“I was fifteen and foolish,” she said, memories rising from the ashes.
Gods, she’d been so naive. So very wrong, but then the former High Priestess of Orm had driven her to it—keeping her sequestered inside the tower room, locking her away, allowing no one to visit. The reason for her imprisonment had been simple. The old witch had wanted to keep Cosmina’s gift a secret—all to herself, so that she might profit while others floundered. Her mother had fought long and hard for Cosmina’s freedom. To no end. Ruthless, without conscience, Ylenia had removed her mother from the equation. A deadly poison splashed into her wine goblet and . . .
Grief tightened Cosmina’s throat. Goddess . . . five years. Five long years had passed, and yet the pain never lessened. The loss of her mother still hurt. If only she’d seen Ylenia’s plan in advance. If only she’d understood the jagged pieces of premonition. If only she’d put enough clues together and warned her mother in time. If only . . . if only . . . if only. Two words that would forever haunt her. Along with the aftermath of her mother’s murder and her rebellion against the Order of Orm. Had she been smarter, she could have wielded her gift like a weapon. Made Ylenia and those in her inner circle dance to her tune. Instead she’d rebelled, refusing to share her visions, getting involved with the wrong boy, making the High Priestess believe the loss of her virginity meant the end of her gift.
A huge bluff. One Ylenia had called the day she evicted Cosmina from White Temple. And a history she had every right to hide. Something about Henrik, though, made her want to let it go and lay herself bare.
“I was young. Too trusting,” she said. “I thought I was in love, and he—”
“Took advantage.”
“Not really. I was willing and . . . curious.” Sad, but true. She’d craved a friend, a companion outside her tower prison and the kitchen staff who brought her meals. The smithy’s son had provided that and, well—Cosmina grimaced—a whole lot more. Tracing the shell of Henrik’s ear, she pressed her cheek to his. A gentle shift. A quick adjustment, and she kissed him again. He drew a sharp breath. Daring to be bold, she licked into his mouth. He responded, delving in, deepening the contact, and pulled her toward him. Her knees slid on the sheet. His hand settled on her back as she touched the tip of her tongue to his. “My cross to bear, I guess.”
“What is, iubita?”
“Curiosity . . . The need to experience things.”
“Understandable,” he said, kissing her back. “Did he give you pleasure?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll take that as nay,” he growled, disgust for her onetime lover in his tone.
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br /> “I only slept with him once, but . . .” She shrugged, then shivered as Henrik’s fingertips played along her spine. Up. Down. Around and around. He drew circles on her skin, watching her, descending until he stroked the curve of her bottom. Pleasure rippled through her, making her muscles twitch as she moaned against his mouth.
With a hum, he nipped her bottom lip. His fingers stroked up, slipping beneath the hem of her braes. “But?”
Cosmina blinked. But what? Good Lord, she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, never mind follow the conversation. Not with his hands on her, caressing, exploring, trailing across her bare back.
Henrik helped, prompting her memory. “You slept with him once, but . . .”
Oh, right. That conversation. “I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”
“Imbecile.”
“Probably.”
Henrik smiled against her throat. A second later, he flicked her pulse point with his tongue. “You deserve better, iubita . . . to know joy, every ounce of pleasure.”
“So show me better.”
“Cosmina . . .” Regret in his tone, he raised his head. “Sweet love, ’tisn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t be touching you like this, never mind—”
“Please?”
Caressing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, he held her gaze. Longing reflected in his eyes, mirroring her own, providing what she wanted most: all his desire, every ounce of his yearning centered on her. But even as she rejoiced in his need, remorse stole into his expression, and he shook his head.
Knight Avenged (Circle of Seven #2) Page 24
