Not that it mattered.
Shame had no place between them. Her need for him came with the territory. Was part and parcel of her surrender to him. Something she’d done willingly, without an ounce of hesitation or remorse. But as he drew the leather down his thighs, stepped over the rocks, and into the water, a pang expanded inside her chest. As it squeezed around her heart, Cosmina battled the awful rise of emotion. Despite her intentions and best-laid plans, she knew it would get messy. Letting him go. Saying good-bye. Allowing him to walk away—without begging him to stay—was going to be so damned difficult. Almost impossible now that she’d opened her heart and pulled him in, permitting true intimacy.
A mistake of terrible magnitude.
What she and Henrik shared went beyond the pleasure. She felt it, believed it . . . accepted it without question. It was about closeness and acceptance, and, aye . . . love. At least for her. Her affinity for him surpassed the physical, spreading into areas she should have guarded much more closely. Which meant she’d lied. To him as well as herself.
No regrets, indeed.
Such a stupid statement. A miscalculation that would bring her naught but pain in the end. Henrik hadn’t lied to her. Or hidden his intentions. He was a man bred for war, one who didn’t mince words. He would leave, just as he said he would. No use disputing the truth, never mind trying to change it. So only one thing left to do . . . come to terms with the fact she must let him go and that he would take her heart with him when he went.
A splash echoed, bouncing off the high rocks behind her as Henrik dove in.
Water rippled, rolling into her chest, dragging her focus back to the present and away from the future. Searching beneath the surface, Cosmina bobbed in the gentle eddy, kicking her feet, arms undulating beneath warm water—desperate for him to reach her. She huffed. It figured. Her reaction to him bordered on insanity. She was beyond need. Far too enamored with him. Foolish in every way. She ought to be retreating. Setting up emotional roadblocks with an eye to self-preservation. Instead she waited for him, torment and anticipation cascading into a sordid tangle that simply made her want him more.
Henrik surfaced behind her.
Setting his mouth to the top of her shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into him. Her shoulder blades bumped his chest. Hard muscle flexed around her. Sighing his name, loving the feel of him, she tipped her head back. He accepted her weight, holding her close, supporting her in the water, making her heart pang as she yearned for something more. Something pure and unmeasured. Something driven by love instead of passion alone. But more wasn’t part of the agreement.
She’d seen to that when she’d settled for far, far less.
Fighting the tight knot of emotion, Cosmina swiped her expression clean and turned in his embrace. Water swirled, moving around and between them. She murmured in need. He understood the plea and, dipping his head, brushed his mouth against hers. Unable to resist, she opened wide, inviting him in, and buried her hands into his hair. The wet strands clung to her fingertips, pushed between, enthralling her as he deepened the kiss and she got her first taste. So good. Decadent. Indecent. Beyond the pale of proper behavior. Not that Cosmina cared. She licked into his mouth instead, refusing to heed reason. Henrik was here. She wanted him as much and as many times as he allowed it.
End of story. To hell with the consequences.
Caressing her beneath the water, Henrik tangled his tongue with hers. Desire flared higher, licking beneath her skin. Cosmina moaned in delight, asking for more, forgetting restraint and the looming devastation in her future. Naught mattered but him—his taste, his scent, the feel of his hands on her body. Right. Wrong. Neither factored in anymore. In that moment, he became the center of her universe, the sun, the moon, all the stars, and . . .
Gods, it wasn’t fair.
He tasted so good and felt even better, as though he belonged in her arms, and she, in his. Meant to be. The phrase tickled her senses and played with her mind. All an illusion, she knew. A ruse designed with one purpose in mind—to break her heart. But blast and damn, it seemed real, felt right, making her believe even as her more practical side scoffed. Henrik wasn’t hers. She wasn’t meant to be his. A quirk of fate had brought them here.
Naught more. Nothing less.
“Cosmina. Sweet love, I need—”
“Me too.” Holding him close, she kissed him again.
“Nay, iubita, don’t. I have to . . .” His denial lit the fuse on defiance. Baring her teeth, Cosmina nipped his bottom lip. He groaned against her mouth. “Goddamn it, Cosmina. I need to explain something. You’re not . . . oh God. You taste good. I cannot get enough of you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” An understatement of epic proportions. ’Twas so much more than that. The attraction was delicious, heated, practically flammable. “Can we make love in the water?”
“Aye, but—”
“But nothing.” One hand flat against the nape of his neck, she sent the other exploring. Over his wide shoulders. Down his gorgeous chest. Across the taut muscles roping his abdomen. A little lower, and she curled her hand around him. He sucked in a quick breath. Cosmina smiled and, showing no mercy, stroked him from root to tip. “So hard, Henrik. Smooth as silk and hot in hand. You’re ready to please me.”
“I can’t. Not yet. Not until I—oh Jesus.” Breathing hard, he rolled his hips into her next stroke, but shook his head. She caressed him again. He cursed between clenched teeth. “Mercy, love. Mercy.”
“Nay.” Pressing her advantage, she licked over his bottom lip. “I want you, Henrik . . . right now.”
“After, Cosmina,” he said. “If you still want me after, then I’ll give you whatever you want, however you want it. Gladly. Without hesitation, but . . .”
The edge in his voice slowed her down. Her hand stilled its intimate play. Retreating a little, she met his gaze. “After what?”
Brows drawn tight, he drew a deep breath.
“Henrik?” Seeing the regret in his eyes, alarm streaked through her.
Oh dear. Not good. She didn’t like that look.
Remorse lived in his expression, the kind she didn’t want to see, never mind have directed at her. Something was wrong . . . terribly wrong. Treading water with him, she held him close, caressed the tops of his shoulders, hoping to alleviate his tension. It didn’t help. Her touch cranked him tighter instead, and as his arms flexed around her, she hooked onto his emotional turmoil. Worry. Remorse. Guilt. All took a turn in his expression and—gods. He was uncertain about something. Completely conflicted. Uncomfortable in his own skin. Not like the Henrik she’d come to know at all.
Desperate to soothe him, Cosmina raised her hand and cupped his cheek. Whiskers scraped her palm, teased the pads of her fingertips as he bowed his head and pressed his face to the side of her throat. His torment tugged at her heartstrings. “What is wrong?”
“Naught.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I am an excellent liar.”
“Probably,” she said against his temple. “But not with me, so . . . out with it. Tell me what is troubling you. You know I will needle you until you do.”
Her teasing tone was meant to make him laugh. A tremor rolled through him instead.
“Cosmina.” He whispered her name like a benediction, with yearning, as though asking for forgiveness for something he hadn’t yet done. Raising his head, he met her gaze. Gentle and sure, he brushed wet tendrils of hair away from her face. “Do you trust me?”
She hesitated a heartbeat. ’Twas a loaded question. One she’d hoped to leave unexplored. But as she held his gaze, Cosmina faltered. She should say no . . . no way. No chance in hell. Trust was a big step, but going all in and admitting it? Cosmina knew that might prove fatal. Men talked of trust all the time, but rarely, if ever, proved worthy of it. And yet, as the silence expanded and Henrik waited for her to answer, the truth struck home and . . .
Goddess help her. She didn’t want to lie. Not to him.
“Aye, Henrik,” she whispered, knowing she shouldn’t, telling herself not to, plunging headlong into trouble anyway. “I trust you.”
A mistake. Cosmina knew it the second the words left her mouth.
Still she refused to take them back, even when Henrik drew her closer. Warm water swirled between them. Cosmina barely noticed. Locked against him, his gaze bored into hers, making her forget the here and now. A tingle circled her temples, then stroked along each side of her head. She tensed. Something wasn’t right. But even as the realization registered, the strange vibration coalesced at the base of her skull, then tugged, pulling her sideways inside her own mind. Pure seduction, the tilting pitch urged her to give in and go along, but . . .
Wrong. All wrong. The prickle, the mental fog . . . the drift of sensation.
Clinging to Henrik, Cosmina blinked and, fighting to clear her mind, reached for clarity. None came. Instead the brain fog thickened as, gaze steady on hers, Henrik’s eyes started to shimmer. Alarm slithered through her, making instinct rise. She shook her head. His grip on her tightened. Gasping his name, she tried to retreat, struggling in his arms, battling sensory overload as a vortex opened deep inside her. Whispering reassurances, Henrik cupped the sides of her face, pressed his thumbs beneath her chin, forcing eye contact.
Her breath hitched. Her muscles twitched. Her brain shut down.
In that order. Even as she fought the slow slide into enchantment. Even as she called his name, asking him to stop. Even as the pressure built between her temples and the cerebral burn took hold, making her fall into him instead of away. Panic kicked her heart against her breastbone, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t resist or pull away. Lost in the swirling gold of his gaze, a snick echoed inside her head. She whimpered. Henrik murmured, telling her to relax, that he wouldn’t hurt her, soothing her with his voice as he pushed past reason and invaded her mind.
Heart so heavy his chest hurt, Henrik finished lacing his tunic. Boot soles rasping against the dirt floor, he left his knives on the table, picked up Cosmina’s necklace, and turned toward the bed. The ancient disc that doubled as a key swung from a delicate chain made of silver links. Back and forth. To and fro. A pendulum of movement that sent him back to White Temple and the instant he’d first laid eyes on her.
So feisty. So full of life.
So goddamned beautiful, clothed in boy’s trews and a bad attitude.
His mouth curved. Remorse killed his amusement, filling his chest, squeezing around his heart, making it difficult to breathe as he tumbled back into the present. The necklace came back into focus. Delicate yet strong . . . just like Cosmina. And unlike him at the moment. Bowing his head, Henrik fought the claw of emotion—the need, the want, the god-awful yearning. Firelight flickered against the timber beam walls and off the silver links coiled in his palm, throwing light into the room, mocking him with a warmth he didn’t feel and in no way deserved. Comfort didn’t belong in his corner. Not anymore.
Not after what he’d done.
Raising his arms, Henrik cupped the back of his neck and pressed down. Taut muscles squawked. Pain streaked down his spine, then clawed across his lower back. He barely noticed. Was too busy telling himself to put his feet to good use and go. To head for the door, ’cause—God. He sure as hell shouldn’t be standing inside Cosmina’s cottage, occupying the same space, defiling her with his presence while longing to hold her close. Just as he had during the night when her nightmares arrived, and she’d fought demons he couldn’t see, never mind vanquish, for her.
His fault. Every terrible moment of it.
Putting her in Thrall had opened mental doors she’d shut long ago. Probing her mind to find what he needed had made it worse, unearthing memories, releasing her monsters—all the things Cosmina kept tucked away and struggled to forget. Things she no doubt didn’t want him to know. But it was too late. He’d seen her past, felt her fear in the wee hours, and held her close while she cried out in her sleep. Henrik closed his eyes as recall spun him around the lip of self-loathing. He shook his head, trying to banish the abhorrence, consoling himself with the fact he’d tried to help. Had done his utmost to banish the ghosts and ease her suffering. It hadn’t worked, so he’d wrapped his arms around her instead, whispered nonsense, stroked her hair and . . .
Hated himself the whole time for causing her pain.
Which meant he needed to leave. Right now. Before she woke to find him mooning over her like a lovesick lad. A clean break. A quick getaway. Both would be best—safer for her, more advisable for him to cut his losses and walk away while he could, but . . .
Deep-seated longing wouldn’t let him.
He needed to touch Cosmina one last time.
Drawn to her against his will, his feet took him to the side of her bed. Fast asleep now, red hair a tangled web around her head, she lay on her side, curled beneath the coverlet, face pale, body relaxed, and mind exhausted. Guilt tightened its grip. Henrik cleared his throat and, unable to help himself, reached for a lock of her hair. The soft strands clung to his fingertips, making his heart throb as he remembered. Her struggle. The gentle insistence he’d wielded to subdue her at the hot spring. Her slide into terrible dreams and restless slumber in the aftermath of mental conquest. Goddamn it, he was a first-rate bastard. The lowest of the low for using his magic against her. It didn’t matter he’d had little choice. The facts spoke for themselves and couldn’t be refuted—he’d entered her mind, gone against her wishes to retrieve information.
To save himself. To protect his comrades. For the goddess and the greater good.
He flexed his fingers, fisting his hand around the key. The metal dug into his palm, and Henrik swallowed a snarl. The greater good. Jesus. If only it were that simple. The end didn’t always justify the means. He knew that. And yet he’d done it anyway, cornering Cosmina, pulling the information he needed from her mind, cursing himself as she whispered his name, asking him to stop. He hadn’t listened, and that, more than anything, laid him low. Made him recoil inside even as he yearned for her forgiveness.
Another thing that would never come.
Aye, he’d been gentle. So what. Big deal. The manner of it didn’t matter. Leaving her unharmed wasn’t the point. Hurt took on many different forms, the physical kind just one of them. So nay, he didn’t deserve absolution. He had no right to ask for it and knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, Cosmina would never grant it. He’d wronged her. She would hold him accountable. But only if he braved her wrath and . . .
Stayed for the reckoning.
Surprisingly enough, the idea appealed to him. An angry Cosmina, after all, seemed better than the alternative: no Cosmina at all. But even as the thought chased its tail inside his head, tempting him to a dangerous degree, Henrik dismissed it. He couldn’t stay. She couldn’t come where he was going—into battle with the Druinguari—so he traced her cheek with his fingertip instead, memorizing every detail—the softness of her skin, the beauty of her face, the way she tasted along with the incredible way she fit in his arms. He lingered a moment longer, then turned away, and strode toward the table. And his weapons.
Time to go. Even less of it to waste.
The wildlife was getting restless outside.
He could tell by the pitch of his brothers-in-arms’ voices. The heavy stamp and claw of the horses’ hooves on the snowy ground too. His comrades awaited him in the clearing. Each was ready to ride, eager to fight, just five strides and one closed door away. But as Henrik strapped on the twin swords he favored and sheathed his knifes, he paused, his gaze on the piece of parchment he’d left on the tabletop. Small. Neatly folded. Ragged on one edge from being torn from the journal he liked to carry. Naught but crisp white corners and messy handwriting, an inadequate good-bye to the woman who now held his heart.
Henrik stared at the note a moment, wondering if he’d lost his mind. He shouldn’t leave it there. Should crumple the wretched thing into a bal
l and feed it to the fire. ’Twould be wiser, the kindest choice for Cosmina in the long run. She didn’t need to know how he felt. ’Twas the height of selfishness to leave her with the knowledge, never mind the burden.
Somehow, though, logic didn’t hold sway.
Right. Wrong. Neither mattered anymore.
In the end, it came down to one thing. An unforgivable, irrefutable fact. He didn’t want her to forget him. Needed to know she thought of him often—as often as he would her. So instead of picking up the missive and throwing it away, he unsheathed his favorite dagger—the one he carried next to his heart—set the weapon atop the parchment, then laid her necklace over both. An inadequate explanation anchored by a gift—a blade, expertly designed and exquisitely wrought, the only thing of worth he had to give. Leaving the offerings in the center of the table, he made for the exit. Flicking the handle, Henrik opened the door, and without looking back, latched it tightly behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Standing in front of the fireplace wearing nothing but her rabbit-fur throw, Cosmina pulled the coverlet tighter around her. Flames licked between the logs, throwing heat into the room, warming her bare feet as the pelt settled against the nape of her neck. Soft fur against her skin—undeniable luxury, unerring comfort inside her cottage, a safe haven far from the dangers of the world. And yet, the idea of safety—of hearth and home, and all material goods she used to define it—didn’t soothe her in the usual ways. No pride for her sanctuary. No satisfaction at its warmth. Naught to ease her mind or calm the raging beat of her heart.
Unusual in and of itself.
She took great pride in her home. Loved the security it offered inside the Limwoods. The dawn of a new day, however, had changed everything, banishing neat and tidy in favor of messy and morose. And solace? Cosmina huffed. It wasn’t in the offing. Had disappeared somewhere between here and there . . . that mystical place between absolute certainty and unequaled doubt. Now safe—all things ordinary—felt thin, without their usual weight, like fine comfort cloaked in empty promises. Not surprising. Particularly since she couldn’t turn off her brain. She was too far-gone, deep in a space where it would be better to forget, but she couldn’t let go of the memories, of heart-wrenching loss, and the fact . . .
Knight Avenged (Circle of Seven #2) Page 29
