by Cat Marsters
“This is not funny,” he said. “This—I was going to tell her, you know, I was going to own up. She still thinks she’s tied to me, even after what I did to her. I was going to bloody tell her!”
Kett knelt on the bed, her body feeling oddly empty without him. “Bael, it’s me,” she said. “It’s Kett.”
He stared wildly at her, pacing back and forth, running his hands through tousled hair.
“Shapeshifter,” she reminded him, and turned herself back. “See?”
“But—” Bael looked like she’d just slapped him. “I— I—
“I think I’m going to wake up now,” he mumbled, and suddenly vanished.
Kett swore but a second later someone was shaking her by the shoulder, and she opened eyes that she didn’t think had been closed to find herself back in her bedroom at Nuala’s house, Bael peering worriedly at her in the moonlight.
Chapter Twenty
“I know all about Marisa,” Kett said, and Bael wanted to die.
“I was going to— Wait, how do you know?”
“You’re not paying attention,” she said impatiently. She was sitting up in bed, her arms folded across her bare breasts, the room in darkness. Bael could see her just fine, thanks to Var’s enhanced night vision, and Kett wasn’t complaining, so he guessed she could see in the dark too.
“That wasn’t your dream. Or rather, it was yours, but it was mine too,” she said. “How else do you think we got to Koskwim? In point of fact, Bael, how else do you think I know what happened in your dream?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “You ever shared a dream with anyone else before?” She shook her head. “Me neither. Maybe it’s my latent Mage powers finally making themselves known.” A bloody shitty power, but anyway. “Look. I was going to tell you about her, but then I found you with that—that—”
“Very hot, skilled man who did absolutely nothing for me,” Kett said.
“I don’t want to hear about how hot and skilled he was!”
“You’re still not listening,” she said, and grabbed hold of his arm to dig her nails into it. Bael flinched, because her nails were damn sharp.
He looked down. She’d manifested claws.
“I’m a shapeshifter,” she said. “I can change my shape.”
“Yes, all right.” He tried to extract his arm but she held on to it.
“Mostly I imitate things, it’s easier that way. Like drawing a picture of something that’s in front of you. I mostly do animals, things with the same sort of mass as a human body. And occasionally, I change my appearance.”
“Like when you turned to stone?”
“Yes. And like when I turned into a floozy barmaid who drugged you, dragged you to bed and woke you up by sucking on your cock.”
Bael gaped at her.
His first thought was, How did she know? How did she know I slept with Marisa, and how did she know all those details?
His second thought was, Is she serious? I’ve seen her change shapes. Just because Var is limited to animals doesn’t mean Kett is. She could change her eyes, hair, skin—she could look like anybody.
His third thought was, Does this mean I didn’t cheat on her?
His fourth thought was, Damn, even bruised and sulky she’s gorgeous.
“It was me, Bael. I was trying to prove I wasn’t your mate. I didn’t know if you’d go for another woman, so I figured…”
Bael tried to shake off the fog of lust and confusion clouding him. “Why?”
She let go of his arm and plucked grumpily at the bedcovers. “I don’t want to be tied to anyone. I never did.”
“You got married once.”
“Yes, when I was very, very drunk, and it ended very, very badly. I don’t like fate, Bael. It tells you what to do—”
“And you don’t like being told what to do,” Bael finished, incredulous. She was dumping him because of a problem with authority?
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said.
“Try me.”
Kett heaved a sigh then said, “All right. You want to count these? First up, my natural disaster of a marriage.”
“Lots of people have failed relationships.”
“Do they end up in jail as a result of them? All right, when I was about seventeen I was sleeping with this pro-Treegan player. He did some aerial stunts to impress me, fell off the gryphon, broke his back. And it’s not just sexual relationships. Look at my dad, he ended up dead.”
“Temporarily.” Bael still couldn’t quite process this.
“Look, even my friends get hurt. Jarven, there’s a nice, recent example. And my army buddies, they tried to stand up for me, and not one of them ever got promoted because of it.”
“So bad things have happened to you—” Bael began, but she cut him off, her eyes steely and defensive.
“It’s not just me. It bites everyone in the ass.”
“What does?” Bael asked, frustrated.
“Love. Whatever shape it comes in. Look at Chance—she sacrificed herself for Dark.”
“But she’s fine now. She survived.”
“Striker’s been killed for love at least three times that I know of. Chalia even shot him herself once.”
“Can’t entirely blame her for that,” Bael muttered.
“Captain Tanner—did you meet him? Got his finger cut off trying to defend his fiancée. The king? You know he’s a widower? His wife was killed protecting her children. And then there’s me—again. I tried to protect my dad from the sorceress who was bumping off Striker’s friends. Remember how that one ended up?”
He touched the scar on her stomach and she flinched away.
“And finally we come to you. Deliberate or not, Bael, because of you, I ended up almost dead in that cell. Maybe it is just me. The Curse of Kett, Bael. Falls on everyone. I’ve hurt more people than I can remember, and you can be damn sure they’ve hurt me.”
She rubbed her shoulder and Bael ached with the effort of not touching her, soothing her—contradicting her.
“So I gave up. Went to live with Jarven, who’s a total sociopath. Figured I couldn’t do any damage there, to me or anyone else. Don’t you see, Bael, I’m not like other people. I can’t do the relationship thing. I can’t do the normal thing.”
“You’re not normal.”
“Cheers.”
“No—I mean, why would you want to be? Kett, you’re amazing. You’re glorious.”
“Stop,” she said quietly.
“No. Kett, I love everything about you. Don’t ever be like other people, they’re boring. You’re—”
“No, stop. Don’t do this. Don’t praise me, don’t tell me I’m wonderful and for the love of the gods, don’t pretend you love me.”
“But—”
“You don’t love me, Bael. You just think you ought to because you’re stuck with me.” She touched his shoulder, stroked over the skin until she found a sore spot then dug in. Bael sucked in a sharp breath of pain.
“See? You’re hurt this bad already. Imagine what’d happen if you actually were in love with me.”
There wasn’t anything he could think to say to that.
* * * * *
“How’s that bruise on your face?” Nuala asked as Kett took a bite of toast at breakfast.
“Five by five,” Kett said through her mouthful.
“Are you sure you’re not having any problem with movement?”
She swallowed her toast and shook her head. “No, it’s fine, see? Else I’d be eating through a straw.”
“Oh,” said Nuala, frowning in a way that made Kett wave her hand for more information. “Well, if it doesn’t hurt that much, try smiling.”
Her father guffawed. Realizing she was being made fun of, Kett snarled at her stepmother and grabbed three bread rolls as she stood up to leave. She rolled them into a napkin and added some fruit.
“Oh Kett, I didn’t mean it like that,” Nuala said, looking like a kicked puppy.
“I do
n’t exactly see how I’ve got a lot to smile about,” Kett said, tucking the coffeepot under her arm, taking two cups and leaving the room.
Going back up the stairs was agonizing. With her arms full, she couldn’t lean on the banister to spare her aching leg or hop without losing her balance. The main staircase at Nuala’s house was enormous, as tall as it was wide, stretching into infinity.
She was halfway up and considering dumping the food when someone came up behind her and started taking bread rolls from her arms.
“Gerroff,” she said, because it was Bael, and she’d been avoiding him all morning.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, ignoring her.
“Novelty.” She forced herself up another step.
“Yeah. Look, Kett. If you and I had just met, say in a bar or something, and hit it off and gone back to your place or mine—”
“You mean your castle with the turret cell? Cozy.”
“Or anywhere. And we’d felt the same kind of sparks we had from the start,” Bael went on, prizing the coffeepot from her arms, which left her with one hand free to hold the banister.
Kett stubbornly folded her arms, clinging to the two coffee cups, and trudged up another step.
“Would we have had something? If I’d never mentioned this whole mate thing? If we’d just…gotten together and had fun and shagged each other rotten—”
Kett lost her balance at the mention of that and Bael steadied her, his arm around her shoulders. She wondered where the hell he’d put the things he’d taken from her, then saw Var, dog-shaped, patiently standing there with the napkin held in his mouth.
“Great, now there’s dog slobber all over that.”
“He hasn’t touched the food. Kett, listen. Forget about all the mate stuff. Just think about how it’d be if you and I got together normally.”
“Weren’t you listening?” Kett asked, shrugging him off and grabbing the railing to haul herself up another two steps. “I ain’t normal.”
“And weren’t you listening?” Bael replied. “That’s why I like you.”
She made a very unladylike snort and climbed up the rest of the steps, ignoring Bael even though he was never more than a few feet away. He kept following her, Var trotting along beside him like a good little pet, until she got to Jarven’s door and stopped.
“You following me?”
“I think I am.” He gave her a charming smile, which almost failed to do anything to Kett.
“I’m going to see Jarven.”
“I’ll come with you.
“Bael—”
“Let me, Kett.” There was guilt in his eyes. “I need to.”
She hesitated, but relented. Let him see what his men had done to her friend.
She opened the door and was mildly surprised to see Angie sitting by the bed, looking slightly guilty, a book in her hand.
“I was just—I thought I’d wait until he woke up,” she said, “and, um. See if he wanted anything.”
Kett kept her face straight and just nodded. “Sure. How’s he been?”
They regarded Jarven, asleep, probably sedated. There were bandages on his chest and arms and around his head. Here and there his skin crackled with ugly red patches, burns from his own dragons.
“He’s been quiet,” Angie said, her lip quivering slightly. She attempted a smile. “But then this is Jarven, and he’s always quiet, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Kett said, her heart going out to both Angie and Jarven, who no doubt was totally oblivious to Angie’s crush.
Bael moved over toward the bed, reaching out to Jarven, and Angie said sharply, “Be careful!”
But Bael just touched Jarven’s forehead, closed his eyes for a moment and murmured, “He’ll get better. He’ll be fine.”
Kett watched, uneasy. “Come on now. Leave him alone.”
She gave the coffee and food to Angie and left the sickroom to find Chance outside.
“I was just coming to see if there was anything I could do,” she said. She peered at Kett. “Maybe for you too. How are you feeling?”
“Five by five.”
“Liar,” Bael said, “you’re more like two by three.”
She scowled at him for that but Chance took her hand, frowning. “He’s right,” she said.
“You hear that, I’m right,” Bael crowed.
“And that’s why we’d never have had something,” Kett said.
Chance shook her head. “You’re the one who caused this,” she said to Bael, and his smile slipped. “You’re the one who has to fix it.”
“I would if I could,” he said, and she handed him a clay pot.
“You can,” she said. “Atonement is its own sort of magic.”
* * * * *
Which was how Kett found herself lying naked on her bed, the door firmly locked, as Bael spread some thick white paste over the scratches on her stomach.
“Strictly speaking, it was one of the dogs that did this,” he said.
“I ain’t having one of your hunting dogs slobbering all over me,” Kett said. “I ain’t even having Var doing it. I’m not into bestiality.”
“Good, neither am I,” Bael said.
Kett made a face, folding her arms over her breasts. She’d argued that there was no reason for her to be naked, but Bael had pointed out that one of the worst cuts was on her hip, and any clothes would just get in the way. Kett, irritated, was forced to agree—the wound there had been tormented by whatever clothes she wore.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused as he took his time stroking the white stuff into her skin.
“So are you.”
“No, I’m n—”
“Kett, I can smell your arousal.”
Her face flooded with heat, but then so did the rest of her. Okay, so it was hot to have a big, buff guy stroking her abdomen. So what?
“It’s not—” she began, but was cut off again.
“I’ve never met anyone as deeply in denial as you,” he said, moving on to the big bruise on her ribs.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Bael just smiled and carried on, and Kett realized she was losing her touch. After all, if she really didn’t want him there, she could get rid of him. And yet here she was, lying naked and allowing him to stroke her in a way that wasn’t entirely medical.
Kett Almet, you’re so fucked up.
“Does it feel any better?”
“No,” she lied.
“Maybe I’ll just have to spend more time on it then,” he said, carefully smoothing his fingers over her ribs, perilously close to her breasts. “And be very thorough.”
“Pervert.”
He grinned. “That’s what you said that first time, remember?”
Kett remembered. She was remembering a lot. Like how good Bael’s hands had felt on her then, and how wonderful they’d been in her dreams. Like how he looked when he smiled, his green eyes sparkling, and how he made her laugh.
So he fucked up. It’s not like he has the monopoly on it.
He’d moved onto her hip now, stroking very carefully along the healing wound. The skin around it was still pink and very painful, swollen and tender, and Bael’s fingers were like water on burnt skin, bringing her wonderful relief.
“Better?” he asked, his voice husky, and Kett nodded. There wasn’t any point denying how turned-on she was now. She was pretty sure he was doing it on purpose, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to mind. The arrow had torn through her flank when she was gryphon-shaped, which was now her buttock, hip and upper thigh. Bael stroked her gently, his fingers featherlight, and with each sweep across the front of her thigh Kett found herself wishing he’d go a little farther.
“Just so you know,” she said, and her voice cracked, “I still violently dislike you.”
Bael said nothing, his eyes on her.
“And I know you’re doing this on purpose.”
His face remained a picture of innocence.
“But if you wanted to touch me somewhere
that didn’t need medical attention, I wouldn’t complain.”
Still he remained silent, although his lips quirked a little.
“And if you did it sooner rather than later, I might actually be grateful to you.”
Bael leaned over and brushed his lips over hers, before his fingers slipped across the uninjured part of her thigh and parted her legs a little. Kett held her breath but the bastard didn’t go where she wanted him to.
“I need you to move,” he said, his voice low and husky, and rolled her gently onto one side so he could tend to the gash that tore over her hip to her buttock. His eyes on hers, he stroked her carefully, his touch light, massaging the ointment into her abused flesh.
It was incredibly arousing, and at the same time hideously frustrating. All she wanted was for him to slip his hand between her thighs and touch her swollen, sensitive pussy lips. To touch her where she needed to be touched—where he knew she needed to be touched, dammit! If he touched her clit right now she’d probably explode instantly.
But while his fingers strayed over her hip and buttock, they never went any farther. Kett was ready to scream when he suddenly kissed her mouth, a long, deep, drugging kiss, rolling her onto her back and finally, finally moving his hand between her legs.
Kett tensed and Bael’s fingertip brushed her clit.
She came with a gasp, surprising herself and him. As his fingers continued to move over her slippery, wet flesh, his lips burned a trail down her neck and his other hand moved to stroke her injured shoulder. Kett winced, but Bael started to smear the healing paste on the wound, his touch soothing.
Her shoulder had been the most painful of the wounds, torn and discolored with some hideous infection that she now realized could have killed her. But under Bael’s gentle fingers, the pain receded, the soreness faded, and the extremely pleasant sensations he was creating between her legs overwhelmed her instead.
For the first time since she’d met Albhar and his pack of hunting dogs, she felt more pleasure than pain.
Bael kissed down one side of her neck, nibbled along the length of her collarbone and back again, then he started on her injured shoulder. Very, very gently, he kissed the torn, bruised flesh, and where his lips touched, the pain vanished.
